Habits Of My Heart (Part One)
by totaltilt
Summary: Genevieve is a recovering addict fresh out of rehab who is trying to live a more comfortable life with her best friend. One day on a run around the block, she accidentally bumps into a stranger who eventually turns her world, and her recovery, into a tragedy. (Michael Langdon x OC. Apocalypse/Murder House timeline. Frequent dark themes. TWs at the beginning of chapters.)
1. Chapter One

Hello to everyone who decided to read this! I haven't written fanfiction, or hell _anything_, in a very long time so go easy on me please! I just wanna get back into writing, and Michael's character was just so interesting I desperately wanted to write him. He's very complex and a bit double-sided, so I hope I can write his character as similar to the one in AHS. I also wanted to write a story as close to the original Apocalypse timeline as I could. This story _will_ eventually have a part two taking place in Outpost 3, but this (part one) takes place way before that.

Anyways, I just wanna clarify that **this story has a lot of triggering themes for some people such as drug addiction/abuse, mentions & memories of rape, mentions of animal & family death, and suicide.** I really like to write about dark stuff, so... sorry? ^^; However, I promise to _always_ put Trigger Warnings at the beginning of chapters, like this:

**TW for this Chapter - Mentions of past drug addiction/abuse**

There! Hope it's clear for ya, enjoy!

* * *

Chapter One

Pulling back the white curtains to observe the forecast of the day, a dainty brunette glanced toward the sky. It was sunny but some clouds chose to linger in the vast blue, taking up space wherever they could. The leaves on nearby trees signaled it was breezy as they ruffled their leaves.

"_Remember to always keep moving," _a voice bounced around inside Genevieve's head. "_You should try to keep yourself busy and maybe even exercise. The longer you linger in your head without physical and mental stimulation, the cravings come back faster. It's hard at first but I promise that your body and mind will thank you for it."_

Her therapist was right, in order to recover you need to put in the effort first. Although Genevieve wasn't experiencing any harsh cravings that day, she knew they were like clockwork. Going for a run usually kept the thoughts at bay even before they begin to show themselves. It was already four in the afternoon and Genevieve had done practically nothing all day, except for some light cleaning around the house. She took it upon herself to do most of the chore work in the two bedroom home, considering she was living off of her roommate's income.

With a sigh, Genevieve carefully placed her coffee cup on the kitchen counter. She glanced at the cat design printed on the ceramic and smiled fondly at the present her friend gifted her. It was her roommate's way of expressing gratitude toward a clean home as well as a celebration of Genevieve being clean for an entire month. Cerise knew exactly what her friend liked; coffee and cats.

Speaking of, Genevieve's cat padded up to her and rubbed it's head against her legs, making happy trills at the sight of it's owner.

"Hey, Holly-baby. I'm gonna be heading out soon so I can't pet you for too long, sweetie."

The woman bent down and graciously rubbed the animal's head before shuffling towards the door. After lacing up her running shoes, Genevieve stood and stretched, breathing deeply as she did so. Today was a perfect day for a run.

After about five minutes into her exercise, Genevieve jogged on the same exact route she usually took. She doesn't change it up often; in fact, she likes the neighborhood she resides in. The people are friendly and the houses are beautiful. If she could change one thing, it would be the tourist buses full to the brim of people interested in the one house that _everybody_ in the area was aware of. Apparently, every person who decides to live there unfortunately meets their untimely end, save for maybe one or two previous owners. Genevieve didn't really know how much weight that rumor held and she didn't care. Sure, it was a creepy house but she passed it each time she went for a run and nothing out of the ordinary had ever happened there, as far as she could tell. Sometimes a shiver would run up her spine or she'll get the phantom notion of eyes on her, but she mostly chalked it up to the stories people like to tell. One of those people being her incredibly gossipy roommate. Sometimes people say things that stick with you and they play tricks on your mind, even if you don't truly believe in them.

Feeling a buzz in her pocket, Genevieve fished for her phone mid-run and checked the message she received.

It read: _**Hey buddy, got a cancel today. Be home arou-**_

With a sudden force so strong that it not only knocked the wind from her but also the phone from her hand, Genevieve's body was thrown to the ground. Her head was spinning and the sun was directly in her eyes, so she found it difficult to recoup and figure out what just happened.

'_Was I just hit by a car?'_ Genevieve cupped her hand over her forehead to try and block the sun. Her eyes readjusted to the afternoon light and she looked around for any vehicle that may have caused the collision, but instead was met with a figure who loomed over her. The scent of vanilla, spice, and a hint of clove softly fell upon Genevieve's senses as the person crouched down beside her.

"Miss, a-are you okay? I didn't mean to…"

The man who she collided with had the face of a model, with curly blond locks adorning his head. His facial structure was carved so perfectly it was like the angels crafted him themselves. His bright blue eyes were puffy indicating that he had been crying previously.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Nothing but a few scratches and some bruises that I'll have to worry about tomorrow," Genevieve spoke softly as she pulled herself off the asphalt and onto her feet. The male followed in unison and handed her the phone she had almost forgotten about. The screen was slightly cracked in one corner but it wasn't a big issue to her.

"Oh, thank you… Are _you_ okay?"

The blond diverted his eyes from her inquisitive green ones. He was dressed in jeans, a T-shirt under a jean jacket, and no shoes. Genieve turned to look around at their setting only to notice they stood on the sidewalk right in front of that damn tourist attraction. '_Did he run from this house or somewhere else…?' _Her attention redirected back to the man as she heard him make somewhat of a strangled sound.

"Uh, um, it's not you… I-It's just…"

Geneieve could tell he was visibly upset by something else and not the harsh interaction that was just exchanged between them.

"Listen, I have a house that's just a block down from here," the brunette caught herself saying. She usually thinks before she speaks, but the words were coming out before Genevieve had time to process what she was saying, "I can't offer much but I have a lot of tea and snacks. Would you rather talk somewhere comfortable instead of out in public?"

The distressed blond looked at Genevieve as if she just offered him the world. He spoke softly as he teared up again, disbelief playing on his features, "That is so nice of you… Are you sure?" There was a child-like innocence in his voice.

Offering a light laugh, the woman shrugged off the comment, "Yeah, it's really no problem. I'm Genevieve Bianchi, by the way."

"I'm Michael… Langdon. It's nice to meet you."

* * *

As the two walked in silence on the walk home, Genevieve couldn't help but pick up on Michael's apprehensive energy. It isn't every day a stranger in Los Angeles offers you into their home with pure intent. Each time she looked toward him, he shifted his eyes away almost immediately. She couldn't blame him for being uncomfortable.

Once they made it to Cerise's house, the brunette unlocked the door and stepped inside, the blond treading lightly behind her.

"Welcome to my humble abode. It isn't much but houses in LA cost tons. My roommate got quite a deal on this one. Plus she's _really _good at what she does," Genevieve gestured to the conjoined living room, kitchen, and then the small corner table by the front window. "Here, you can sit there and wait while I brew you up some tea. My roommate said she'd be coming home soon, which funny enough is why I bumped into you… Totally my bad."

Michael quietly sat down at the kitchen table and looked over the woman's appearance. Genevieve had beach wave styled, dark brown hair just past the shoulders with a blonde layer underneath. Her height was closer to 5'10" with a thin physique. She was dressed in grey, long-sleeved sports top and black running shorts that exposed a few tattoos on her tan legs. He noticed the big art piece on her thigh was a portrait of a calico cat with a ribbon underneath displaying the name 'Holly.' Before Michael could get a good look at any of the other ones, Genevieve spoke up directing his attention back to her face.

"Here you go. Sorry for the girly mug, we don't have many options," she handed him a yellow mug with bumble bees on it and pointed to the steaming liquid inside. "It's lavender and chamomile, super calming. Also it's really hot so-"

Surprise overtook her as she watched Michael take a sip without wincing or giving any indication of how boiling the tea was. '_It was fresh off the burner_…' She thought to herself, incredibly perplexed by the stranger sitting in front of her.

Michael closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of the herbal tea before turning to look at Genevieve again, "It's good… Thank you." The anxiety had faded from his aura and a more neutral expression overtook his features instead. There was a hint of curiosity mixed with distrust glinting in his irises. He wasn't sure if he should be open with her or not, considering the situation that had just gotten him swept out of the house like a misbehaved dog.

"So…" The dainty woman decided to take a seat adjacent to Michael with her own cup of tea. "I really hope I'm not pressing too much but… What happened? I mean, you don't have to tell me anything of course, I literally just met you… But I can't say I'm not mildly interested." Genevieve paused to swallow a mouthful of tea and then continued.

"...Why were you in front of that house? Do you live there?"

The blond shook his head, the mop of curls bouncing ever so slightly, "No, I lived with my grandma… She kicked me out."

Genevieve felt like she was just pricked in the heart. She was reminded of when her strict parents kicked her out for using drugs and lying. It wasn't like she made the conscious decision to begin using; in fact, Genevieve was only experienced in consuming alcohol and marijuana in the beginning. It was an abusive ex-boyfriend that pressured her to start using harder drugs and it wasn't long after that her parents found out. Once Genevieve was kicked to the curb, she was forced to move from couch to couch every week, always staying at people's houses just to keep off the streets. Genevieve would occasionally do horrific favors for those people in order to get even a wink of sleep and just enough heroin to ward off withdrawals. It was a terrible way to live.

"Oh… I'm so sorry, something kinda similar happened to me. Would you let me talk to her? I can't promise anything but if my story is enough to move her even just a bit, it's better than nothing," Genevieve questioned, looking sympathetically at Michael. She reached her hand out as a form of consolation and touched the male's hand only to watch him recoil. A flash of something unfamiliar to Genevieve flashed across his features.

"You… th-there's…" Michael couldn't finish his sentence before the front door opened.

In came a stout, black latina woman. She had long, braided, fiery red hair pulled back in a bun. Not only was she covered head to toe in tattoos, she also had multiple piercings adorning her chubby face. Her dark lipstick smile grew as she set her chocolate eyes on Genevieve.

"Hey, buddy!" Cerise exclaimed and skipped over towards her best friend. She looked inquisitively over at the stranger seated at her kitchen table, "Oh, making friends?"

A soft laugh escaped Genevieve's lips as her eyes shifted between Michael and Cerise, "Yeah, you could say that. This is Michael, on my run today we accidentally ran into each other as I was looking at your text. I should have paid more attention…" A sheepish grin creeped up on the brunette's features.

"I'd say!" The small woman laughed and turned to the blond. "Well, Gen's been meaning to go out more lately and create some sort of social circle. As much as I love havin' this chicky around, it's healthier when you have human connections to more than just one person, ya hear?"

A soft shade of pink descended on Genevieve's cheeks as she stood up, clearly embarrassed by her eager, non-filtered roommate.

"Yeah, yeah… No need to do Marie's job for her," Genevieve playfully jabbed at her friend and took both empty cups to the sink. "Anyways, I just wanted to make him a cup of tea, I should walk Michael back soon."

Cerise nodded in affirmation, "Sounds good girly, I gotta get into something more comfortable than my work jeans. I hope you know that some 'tea' needs to be spilled when you get back, hun." The redhead shot a quick wink at her roommate to which Genevieve rolled her eyes in response. The stout lady soon wandered off to her bedroom to get settled in for the rest of the afternoon.

Michael stood up, unease as clear as day on his face, as well as mild shock from what had previously happened before Cerise barged in. Genevieve could tell that he doubted her idea of trying to convince his family member to let him back in, but she saw no other option. She would hate to see another soul go through anything even remotely similar to what happened with her, because everybody deserves a home.

"We should probably head out," Genevieve sighed as she quickly rinsed the mugs out and dried her hands. Holly, the 'third roommate' of the household, soon wandered into the kitchen and halted in her tracks. Her beady, feline eyes carefully surveyed Michael. The calico arched her back and hissed once only to quickly scamper away to another room.

"Well, that was weird," Genevieve tilted her head quizzically. "Holly has never done that before… To anyone." She decided to shrug it off and lead Michael to the door, focusing instead on the possible upcoming battle with a woman way before her time.

* * *

The duo had yet another quiet walk as the sky began to prepare itself for nightfall. Golden hour was just beginning and the rays of light shimmered through the rustling leaves, enveloping everything in a warm, yellow glow. Genevieve noticed how relaxed Michael seemed to be in her presence, especially after offering him tea. On their walk to his grandmother's, she could have sworn his hand almost brushed hers a couple times, but she may have been imagining things. It wouldn't surprise her.

As they approached the Langdon house, she felt a shift in the energy around Michael. '_He must be anxious… Was it really that bad?'_ Genevieve thought to herself before approaching the door. She lightly rapped her knuckles on the painted wood. After a few minutes of silence, she heard a knob turn and the door opened, a chain lock separating the two women. Genevieve wasn't sure what she was feeling but she was definitely aware of the air gradually flexing around the three of them.

"What do you want?" The older woman hissed in a heavy southern accent.

"...Well, I happened to run into your grandson on my afternoon walk and I-"

"I want nothing to do with him, get lost," she bit back, getting ready to close the door.

"Wait, please!" Gevevieve pushed the door open again, straining the lock slightly. This forcefulness was unlike her but she felt a great urgency in what she needed to do. "I really want to talk with you."

Michael's grandmother pushed the door back harder and it slammed shut. Genevieve assumed her efforts were futile until she heard the chain lock slide and the door opened once again.

The woman before her sighed in exasperation, clearly exhausted. She was disheveled, wearing gardening gloves that have been thoroughly used, as well as an apron that had been freshly dirtied with mulch. Her voice changed pitch as she spoke, "Well now, I'll see if I can make you a compromise. How about we talk and leave that _monstrosity_ outside and not in my house?"

It almost hurt Genevieve to hear the venom laced words come from Michael's grandmother although they were clearly not aimed in her direction. The slim brunette turned toward Michael and noticed the tears forming in his eyes.

"Hey, I'll be right back, okay?" She spoke reassuringly to him.

"Okay…" He whispered back as Genevieve was lead inside. Something in her gut screamed to bring the male in with her. The door shut behind them.

"Alright, let's make this quick," the woman demanded as she took off her dirtied gardening gloves. She hastily lit a cigarette and took a swig of what Genevieve could only assumed was liquor. Her stomach turned in unease.

"My name is Constance Langdon, and who might you be, dear?"

"I'm Genevieve Bianchi. I came here to-"

"I know why you came by," Constance retorted, waving a hand in the brunette's direction as she went to sit at her kitchen table. "I saw what transpired today after my grandson left the house in a fuss. The emotional type, isn't he? Just can't seem to find his place in the world… I've already had a similar conversation with another girl about one of my own before, albeit she was younger than you by a few years. Sweet, sweet Violet…" The old blonde looked upward and pondered on the nostalgic memory for a moment before continuing.

"Come and sit, Genevieve. You wanted to talk, so let's have at it."

After about twenty minutes of hearing Constance ramble instead of having a fully two-sided conversation, Genevieve feet more confused than ever. The old woman explained how Michael wasn't like everyone else, that he had very dark intentions, and Genevieve needed to be careful. The girl could tell that Constance was dancing around many subjects but she didn't pry. Constance did explain that both his father and mother are deceased due to a terrible accident that she personally did not want to recall. The blonde woman also expressed that she had been trying to steer him down the right path but she felt as if her efforts were useless. She drawled on about how she was 'born to raise the monsters' and that somehow Michael was the worst of them all. Genevieve didn't quite understand what she meant by that and chalked it up to Constance just being resentful and maybe even a bit senile.

"I don't really see how that innocent guy out there can be so bad as you make him out to be," the brunette inquired. "He's been very polite and kind to me."

That earned a laugh from Constance, "He is most definitely not innocent and you will find out in due time, girl. It's nothing but a façade. He is only polite because I raised him that way, and maybe because someone finally showed him the positive attention he so desperately needed. I can tell you aren't overbearing in nature, Genevieve, and that's exactly how he wants it. Michael likes people who don't make him upset." She took a long drag from her cigarette.

"That's why I'd like to have some sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe… throwing him out was a good thing. Otherwise he wouldn't have met you."

Anger flashed across Genevieve's facial expression for a moment before barking back, "What does that even mean? That I have to be his saving grace and tend to him? You're his grandmother, I shouldn't have to hang on to him. I barely know him. Besides, I… I have my own problems to worry about."

"Oh dear," Constance tutted and locked her eyes on the emerald ones before her. "I will take him in once more but only because I have a drop of faith that you can turn this boy around. Heaven knows it's a hard burden to carry but I am simply at the end of my rope. He is much more reeled in by you than me… So I will hang on to him, give him a bed to sleep in, feed him whenever he grows hungry, but if he acts up again…" She trails off as she stands to pour herself more liquor, Genevieve trying her best to ignore it.

"...If he's not redirected soon, I fear he will be the death of me and many others to come."

* * *

Constance is _so_ fun to write and capture the essence of her character. Hope you liked it! Chapter Two coming soon! :D


	2. Chapter Two

Hey dudes, I just want to mention that I've never been addicted to any mind-altering substances, so my telling of Genevieve's story may not be 100% accurate. That being said, if you have ever suffered any sort of addiction and you feel that this doesn't align with what you experienced, please understand that this is just a fictional story. I have spent many hours teaching myself about addiction and listening to people's experiences, and I have come to the conclusion that everyone handles things like this differently. Again, Genevieve's drug addiction is one that is fictional, but I will try my best to have any situations in this fic to be as accurate as possible. My intent is not to glorify or romanticize addiction, but to be informative and raw about the reality of it.

For those who haven't experienced addiction, please note that again this is _fictional_ and Genevieve's story may not align with other people's experiences. If you want to learn more about how addiction works and how an addict's brain functions, I highly recommend starting with informational youtube videos and listening to people's first-hand experiences.

With that, on with the show!

**TW for this Chapter - Mentions of past drug ****addiction/abuse**

* * *

Chapter Two

"Hey buddy, time to wake up."

Genevieve felt a hand gently shake her shoulder.

"You got therapy today, remember? Don't wanna be late, I know how much Marie helps you."

Genevieve could taste metal and smoke in her hazy half-awake, half-dream state. That familiar longing is back in her mind, hauntingly similar to the memory of when she was fresh out of rehabilitation. The groggy woman eventually stirred awake and gave thanks to Cerise for the help waking up. Genevieve is then handed a cup of coffee in her favorite cat mug. Sometimes recovery makes you sleep a lot or very little, and sometimes it makes you crave like a motherfucker. Thankfully she had coffee to take the edge off during the mornings.

"So…" The redhead starts, taking a seat at the end of her friend's bed. "You didn't spill any _tea_, ma'am. I was hoping you'd come home and tell me all about the handsome devil but you passed out almost instantly."

"Is that what happened?" Genevieve grumbled, still not fully awake. Memories of last night started to flood back into her mind. "_He's not normal… You need to be careful… I fear he will be the death of me and many others."_ Constance's haunting words rang in the brunette's ears and she couldn't help but feel sick to her stomach.

"I… Don't really know what to tell you, Cer. He was getting kicked out of his grandma's house and I happened to bump into him at the wrong time. I wanted to make him tea to feel better, maybe get to know him, but he didn't talk much…"

"And where is he now? On the street?"

"No, I convinced his grandma to keep him a bit longer."

Cerise nodded, taking in everything she was saying. "Well, I believe you, never said I didn't. You can't lie though. He is hot as hell and this is coming from me, a raging lesbian," she beamed that goofy smile at her friend. Genevieve sat up and shook her head at her roommate's response, offering a smile after taking a swig from her coffee.

"I mean, yeah, that's true, but it's not like that. I was just being friendly and empathetic."

"Nah nah nah, Gen, I saw the way he was looking at you. He totally-" Cerise was cut off by a pillow getting thrown into her face, earning Genevieve a laugh. The stout woman threw the pillow back at her roommate and huffed, "_Fiiine,_ okay, I get it. Just get ready bud, you're gonna be late."

The brunette sat there for a minute as she watched her friend leave the room, the smile fleeing from Genevieve's face entirely. She pinched her inner elbow between her nails.

So much for coffee taking the edge off.

* * *

Cerise pulled her beat-up wagon into the hospital parking lot and Genevieve unbuckled her seat belt. Despite being an award-winning tattoo artist, Cerise didn't have sufficient funds for a nice set of wheels. Instead, all of her checks went towards groceries, bills, and other living necessities. Genevieve did what she could but the feeling of guilt nagged her each time Cerise had to drive her to appointments. If she was stable enough to hold down a job and pay her share of rent, then maybe Cerise would save up enough money to upgrade her ride.

"See ya in fifty, bud," Cerise lit a cigarette and watched her friend exit from the car.

"Yup," Genevieve responded and shut the door behind her before heading toward the building This was the place that she ended up at before agreeing to attend a thirty-day drug rehabilitation center. Genevieve's therapist was issued to her right off the bat. Thankfully, they both seemed to enjoy each other since day one, which made appointments a lot more comfortable.

The petite woman stepped through the front doors and crossed the waiting room. It was mid-afternoon so there were people everywhere, coming in and out of doors and walking past, paying her no mind. Genevieve promptly checked into the front desk and made her way to the elevator. She pushed the button for the third floor as two other people rushed in just before the doors closed. She stood with her back against the corner and made a mental note to start taking the stairs next time.

Genevieve was quickly called to attention right after sitting down in the waiting room. The counselor smiled warmly and led her back into the small office space like usual. Only this time, once she was inside, her therapist broke the usual script after shutting the door behind them.

"Something's off, Gen."

'_Am I really that easy to read?'_ A sigh escaped from the patient's lips and silence filled the bright room. The only sound that emanated the space was the quiet hum of the white noise machine in the hall. Genevieve sat and hunched over herself on a pale yellow couch, beginning to pick at loose strands.

Genevieve waited a moment before finally responding, "... I guess you could say so."

Marie cocked her head to the side ever so slightly. They've grown close and worked through many traumatic experiences that have happened in Genevieve's past. It would be a lie to think that Marie didn't notice every mood shift and facial expression her patient presented.

"Tell me about it, maybe I can help."

"Eh, I don't know…." Genevieve sighed again, crossing her legs. Today she was wearing a black hoodie that clashed against the couch she sat on, which seemed to be her signature look whenever she came to see Marie. She hated it when her therapist glanced at the broken veins on her inner arms. In fact, Genevieve hated it whenever _anyone_ looked at them. Most of her closet is long-sleeved tops and sweaters until the stubborn scar tissue eventually fades.

"I guess I'm not really feeling well. It's about someone I'm worried about."

"This is new. Could you elaborate?"

Genevieve begrudgingly explained what happened between Michael and his grandmother as well as her conversation with Constance. Finally, she mentioned the feeling of waking up with the phantom taste of heroin smoke on her tongue. Marie hummed lightly before turning to her notepad and writing down some notes. Genevieve played with her tongue piercing between her teeth as she waited for her counselor's reaction.

"Gen, do you know what happens when addicts are put in a position when they can't access the drugs they want?" Marie asks, eyeing the patient's reaction. Genevieve shook her head no.

"They eventually try other things to fuel the sick part in their brain. Whether that be food, animals, exercising, girls, boys…"

A scoff from the brunette slices the air around them, "You think I'm trying to drown my addiction in Michael? A literal stranger, that I just met?"

"Dear, I know. I am well aware of the situation you just presented me with. All I'm saying is to be careful," Marie warns. "You're two months clean and we both know you don't want to end up back where you started. We also both know the kinds of people you attract. Know the warning signs and please, please be careful."

* * *

The car ride was quiet, aside from the commercials playing quietly over the radio, the two roommates brainstorm on what they will be up to that day. Cerise has a few more sessions scheduled and Genevieve would be relaxing at home like usual. The thought of going for a run seemed rather enticing, especially after the minor stressful conversation between her and Marie. Genevieve just couldn't understand why everyone, except Cerise, was bothered by Michael.

As the redhead pulls the car into the driveway she lets out a playful giggle, "Well, Gen, looks like you got a friend." Genevieve turns to face Cerise in confusion, then toward their house. Sure enough, Michael is there sitting on their front porch step, his blond mop angled downwards. That is, until he notices the wagon pull into the driveway.

"Welp, I gotta get back to tattooing peeps. I'll let you know when I'll be coming home. Y'know, just in case," Cerise gives the brunette a wink and laughs at the implication she made. Genevieve groans as she gathers her things, opens the car door, and slides out.

"Hi," Michael greets the brunette as she shuffles up to her front door. His eyes shimmer with joy as his friend turns to give him a gentle smile.

"Hi… What are you up to?" Genevieve questions as she unlocks the door and lets both of them inside.

"I was waiting for you. Grandma said she would only feed me and give me a place to sleep, other than that she wants me out," He looks sad for a moment before lighting up again at the thought of hanging around his new favorite person.

Genevieve couldn't help but feel like she was making a mistake. She lets out a sigh, knowing that this is only the right thing. Just in case he 'goes down the wrong path' or whatever that crazy old woman said… Even though Genevieve knows in her heart that Constance was most definitely not fibbing. She silently cursed her empathetic nature and took off her shoes, setting them by the door.

"Okay, well, how about we talk a bit and get to know each other first to start things off? I feel like I don't know anything about you. Maybe I can treat you to some tea and games afterwards."

Michael looks apprehensive at the request; he doesn't really know himself well enough at all except for the bad things that he's done. His behavior would always warrant scoldings and finger-pointing from Constance.

Genevieve recognized the change in Michael's energy and motions him to the couch. It's small, but they both manage to fit on it anyways, although their knees touch and Genevieve feels like she has to pull away. The smell of vanilla and cloves envelope her senses once again, although a bit stronger than the day before. A strange reaction starts to bubble up inside her stomach. If she didn't know any better she would have thought she needed to vomit.

"Okay, where to begin…" Genevieve tries to steer the conversation in her favor. Michael's sky blue eyes seemed to bore into hers and she started to feel uneasy. Genevieve then turns to look away, an anxious blush creeping onto her face. '_What the hell is happening?'_

Unexpectedly, Michael touches her hand and the same look he had the first time they brushed skin shone on his face. Genevieve couldn't tell if it was hurt, anger, or sadness, if not all three.

"How are you so strong… so nice and caring…? After all that?" His voice breaks as he tries to process the new information he was receiving, "Those people... All of them... "

Genevieve is speechless, with green eyes wide, she had no idea what was happening. Eventually the gears began to turn in her head. Before she can say anything Michael grabbed her arm and rolled up the sleeve to reveal the leftover track marks. He looked at her with a tearful, horrified expression. One she was hoping to never see from anyone again.

She forcibly removes her arm from his grasp and turns away, shame creeping into her heart like a familiar enemy that just wouldn't leave her alone. Genevieve had no control over the situation and it shook her to the core.

'_Was he talking about the people I used to know? How did he know about my arms? Was he in my fucking head?'_

"Genevieve," his gentle voice called, stricken with grief. "I-I'm sorry, I don't know what I was doing."

The young woman turned back to him, feeling her blood run cold. It took her a minute to compose herself before responding, "Michael… how about we play some card or board games instead."

The afternoon passes painlessly and with ease. Michael beat Genevieve at nearly every game, during every single round. Her pride was slightly hurt but it was nothing compared to the lingering feeling of unrest that soured her stomach. She had been pushing it down the entire time, but Genevieve knew it was something that could only be addressed later, when she was alone with herself.

A lock turned in the door and Cerise came bounding in, happy to see the two playing battleship on the living room floor.

"Awe," she cooed before darting to the kitchen to find a snack. When you're bent over tattooing people all day it sure works up an appetite.

Genevieve rolled her eyes and stood up from the floor, motioning Michael to as well.

"Do I have to leave already?" He asked, slight disappointment evident in his voice before standing. He looked like he was almost twenty-years-old, if not older. How could he sound so much like a child?

"Unfortunately we must," Genevieve stretched and then yawned into her hand. "I'm pretty tired, but don't worry, I'll bring you home."

Of course, the walk home was quiet as usual, but this time it was much different. Michael had asked to hold Genevieve's hand. She wasn't exactly comfortable with it, but she compromised by letting him take her pinkie finger instead. The girl couldn't tell if she was losing her mind or if his skin really felt like it burned to the touch.

Finally standing outside the Langdon home, Genevieve turned to Michael and smiled as she pulled her digit from his grasp, "Thank you for coming over today to play some games with me. It was unexpected but also really fun. I never realized how much human connection I actually needed."

He nodded and gave a soft smile back, making her heart flutter.

"Genevieve, may I hug you?" The angelic boy asked, his cerulean eyes catching the light from the sunset.

The dainty woman didn't know how to respond. She was difficult when it came to touch and earning a hug from her was like trying to feed a vending machine a wrinkled dollar. Anytime Cerise wanted to embrace, she had to bribe or coerce it out of her. Nevertheless, Genevieve nodded to Michael's question.

He leaned down and wrapped his arms around her fragile waist. After the response earlier he was making sure not to cause harm or a negative reaction this time. To Genevieve's surprise nothing came, just the overpowering smell of vanilla, spice, and cloves yet again.

Michael pulled away after a minute and looked down at Genevieve. She couldn't explain what it was, but there was something dark in his energy. Although she didn't show it, Genevieve couldn't help but feel a sliver of fear.

* * *

"Hey girl, heyyy," Cerise exclaimed as she heard Genevieve slide through the front door. "How'd it go, did y'all kiss when you walked him back? Did y'all have any _fun _when I was gone?"

"No," the brunette said sternly, making the smile fall from Cerise face. "I mean… I'm sorry. I'm just really tired, I hope you can understand. I haven't had that much interaction in a long time, and no we didn't do anything like that so…"

Genevieve dragged her feet to the bathroom, not once looking back at her friend's face, and locked the door behind her. She stripped away her clothes, which reeked of that sickeningly sweet smell, and stepped into an ice cold shower.

'_What the hell is wrong with me? I haven't acted that rude to someone in a while…' _She thought to herself, trying her best to scrub off the stink from the man that made her organs do cartwheels. '_On top of that, I have never felt like this before either…' _Genevieve reached for the hot water faucet and slowly turned it up as much as she could handle. Not enough to burn her skin, but enough to recreate…

'_No,'_ she told herself as she firmly shook her head, trying to rid her thoughts of Michael. '_This is just a stupid crush. I need to stop; I need to get in control again.'_

After finishing a painfully quick shower, Genevieve wrapped herself in a towel and tiptoed to her room. It wasn't past dark yet and she felt not only physically tired but emotionally exhausted too. Laying down on her bed without putting on pajamas, or even combing her hair, she turned on her side and brought her day clothes up to her chest. The smell of Micheal was invigorating to Genevieve's senses, kicking up butterflies in her stomach. The scent wasn't nearly strong enough as she had hoped but it would have to suffice for now.


	3. Chapter Three

This chapter is going to be a little bit shorter than the previous, but still important nonetheless. Enjoy!

**TW for this Chapter - Mention of suicide**

* * *

Chapter Three

It's been three days since Michael turned up on the front porch of Cerise's home. Genevieve would be lying if she wasn't worried. Ever since their last encounter, the smell of the angelic boy had dissipated from Genevieve's clothes, leaving her restless. Not only did she have trouble sleeping, she had no appetite, or will to clean up around the house. The stout redhead began to pick up on the mood shift and on the third day she decided to approach Genevieve about it.

"Hey," Cerise knocked gently on her friend's bedroom door. "It's almost noon and you've been sleeping all morning, bud. I need to go to work soon, so I figured I'd try and stir you before I left."

A small, "Thank you, Cer," was heard beneath the covers. The black Latina frowned. She decided to take a seat at the end of the bed and lightly stroked Holly, who was cuddled up against the shape of Genevieve. Cerise prodded lightly at her friend's calf.

"Please, you need to get up. I already know this is about but it's not healthy and you have to-"

"Don't harp on me like that," Genevieve hissed and sat up, dark circles from lack of sleep evident on the woman's face. She looked into her friend's caramel eyes, "I'm okay, really. Just going through a rough patch in recovery, it happens. Nothing I can't handle…"

Cerise shook her head and tried again to get the brunette up and about, "Why not call him, Gen? Maybe he's having a rough time, with his grandma and all, especially if he hasn't turned up here. It could help keep you out of the low you're going through. Do you have his number?"

Genevieve pondered for a moment, mulling over the idea. Maybe it would be beneficial. She didn't have his number or Constance's, in fact, she didn't think Michael even owned a phone to begin with. Genevieve was also under the impression that he would show up whenever his grandmother kicked him out for the day, considering he had that just days ago. But what if Michael felt awkward about showing up unannounced and was left to wander instead?

The brunette sighed and averted her gaze from Cerise. Without a word Genevieve stood up and shooed her friend away so that she could get dressed. Cerise smiled sadly.

"Alright Gen, I'm gonna head out now, be safe."

Grumbling in acknowledgement, Genevieve went to her closet to pick out clothes for the day. As she pawed through different fabrics and patterns, her mind wandered to the dream she had last night. Images flashed through her mind so quickly that she could hardly get her bearings on what exactly she was experiencing.

With the room spinning, the dainty woman sat down and put her throbbing forehead between her hands. Genevieve purposefully breathed deep to try and focus on the images she was remembering. In her dream, Michael was there and she remembered him offering a hand to her. When Genevieve looked closer, there was blood on his extended hand and the energy he gave off was much darker than she remembered. She had picked up on it once before but it was nothing like the aura in her dream. Clips of smoke, pills, and a record player ran through her mind but Genevieve tried not to linger for too long on those, considering she was already disturbed with the nightmarish image of Michael.

Trudging forward through the vision, she recollected a dreadful feeling around Constance's persona. Constance wasn't necessarily in last night's dream but Genevieve reflected on the feeling of her presence and began to feel sick to her stomach.

'_This isn't right…'_ She thought to herself, clearly put off by the visceral reaction. '_Something is wrong.'_

Taking a deep breath, Genevieve opened her eyes and quickly picked out whatever clothes were within reach. After getting dressed and giving Holly a few head scratched, she rushed herself out of the house. Genevieve was determined to figure out what happened with the Langdons.

* * *

Upon nearing Constance's house, Genevieve knocked hurriedly on the wooden door. Anxiety was getting the best of her so she knocked a second time soon after getting no response. She waited a few more moments before rapping her knuckles a third time. Genevieve could feel her heart sinking by the second.

A shiver ran up the girl's spine, chilling her to the bone. She surveyed her surroundings, looking up and down for anything out of the ordinary. Her eyes eventually settled on the house next door; the infamous Murder House. Genevieve didn't know what it was exactly but something in her brain felt like it was being beckoned to come closer.

Begrudgingly, the brunette marched up to the eerie house and stepped underneath the front overhang. Part of her conscience encouraged her to go in but in the same breath she also wanted nothing to do with the house. Swallowing back her gut feeling, Genevieve knocked on the large, wooden entrance. When it began to slowly creak open, every warning sign went off in her head.

Genevieve apprehensively stepped inside and looked around. There wasn't much furniture around but what had been left was old and worn. Dust seemed to hang still in the air. The place smelled old, kind of like when you open a book with pages yellowed from time. It smelled like that but with a hint of rot. The house carried a solemn vibration.

"Hello…?" The woman timidly called out only to be met with the door closing abruptly behind her, earning a jump from Genevieve. She knew nobody lived here considering there was a 'For Sale' sign out front, yet she couldn't help but feel like multiple eyes were on her, watching closely. About to call out again, she was stopped by the feeling of a hand touching her shoulder. Letting out a yelp, Genevieve whipped around. There stood a man somewhere between his forties or fifties, she couldn't tell his age.

"Can I help you with something?" The man questioned, looking her over. He was fairly attractive for his age with black hair adorning his head and stubble along his jaw.

"Um…" Genevieve paused, "I'm looking for Michael Langdon. Is he here?"

The man averted his gaze and sighed softly before looking up at the woman again, "Why do you ask?"

Genevieve couldn't make out what she felt about the man before her. She got the notion that he was trustworthy. His eyes were gentle and understanding, yet his expression showed curiosity and interest. However, something about him made the hair on her neck stand on end.

"He's kind of like a friend to me," Genevieve rubbed the back of her neck, unsure of how to explain. "I was expecting him to drop by my house. It's just around the block but he hasn't shown himself in 3 days. And… And when I tried to go to his grandmother's, she didn't answer." She refrained from explaining the sickening vision-like dream she had the night before.

"I'm Genevieve, by the way."

"Ben Harmon," the male replied, holding out his hand for her to shake, and she did. "I guess I should probably mention that-"

"Gen?" Michael called out from the staircase. Genevieve and Ben turned to the blond as he bounded down the steps and immediately flung himself into the woman's arms. He squeezed her tightly.

"I missed you so much. I've been so bad… So much happened… I…"

She could hear the tightness in Michael's voice which seemed to tug at her heartstrings just the right way. Instinctively, she put her hand on his head to try and comfort the male. His hair was silkier than anything Genevieve had ever touched in her life.

"Michael, what happened? Why haven't you been around? I was worried."

Ben Harmon cleared his throat, to which Genevieve pried herself from the grabby blond. Truth is, she wanted it to last longer. This house made her shiver and feel cold but Michael brought warmth back into her slim frame.

"Michael, would you like to tell Genevieve what happened?" Ben used a calm but stern voice, almost as if he was talking to a kid.

Michael looked apprehensive as he pulled away from his friend, tensing up slightly as he looked down at her, "Grandma…" He choked on the word, tears threatening to emerge from his cerulean eyes.

"Sh-She's gone… because of me."

Genevieve felt her heart drop. She opened her mouth but no words came. '_There is no way he…'_

Ben spoke up this time, "Michael blames himself for what happened. Constance decided to take her life a few days ago and I've been taking care of him since then. Similar to, let's say, a foster parent." Michael nodded in agreement, wiping tears from his eyes.

"He probably didn't come to you straight away because of the shame and guilt he felt. Loss is something everyone deals with differently."

The young woman felt the brief horror dispel from her body. It was incredibly unfortunate that a woman Genevieve had just met was dead. She didn't know Constance for longer than a week and began to feel wretched over the situation. Constance trusted her to lead Michael down 'the right path' and so far Genevieve thought that she was. Did she make a mistake along the way?

Michael turned to Ben with pleading eyes, "May I go to Gen's house? She makes me feel happy." The dark haired man nodded and opened the door for the two of them.

As the two stepped out of the house, Genevieve turned to thank Ben for offering Michael support over his grandmother's passing. However, Ben wasn't standing there anymore. He was nowhere to be seen.

Feeling the same shiver run up her spine, the same multiple eyes on her, Genevieve turned away and hastily walked toward the sidewalk with Michael. The wooden door once again shut on it's own behind them.

* * *

Back at Cerise's house, Genevieve was brewing a pot of tea for both her and Michael. This time it's earl grey. As she waited for the water to heat up, she grabbed a flower-printed blanket and set it on the couch for Michael in case he got cold. She doubted it considering how high of a temperature he was all the time. Truth be told, Genevieve hadn't felt so motivated to get up and move around as often lately as she did now. She was in a fantastic spirit, happier than she'd been in days, and Genevieve wanted to ride that high.

Once the water began to steam, she turned off the stove and poured two cups of earl grey. She strode towards Michael, who was seated on the couch, and handed him the same mug he drank tea out of the first time they met.

"Thank you," he smiled graciously at her and took a sip from the bumble bee mug. Genevieve nodded her head in acknowledgement. The liquid was still too hot for her to drink so she set down her cup on the coffee table.

"So," She began, shifting her weight onto one leg. "Would you like to watch a movie to maybe keep your mind off… uh, recent events?"

"Sure," Michael continued to smile, making the young woman's heart leap. "I don't watch movies often but I can try my best to pay attention."

Genevieve nodded again and emptied her pockets onto the table beside her tea so that it wouldn't be uncomfortable during the movie. Her phone screen lit up, indicating a notification through the sparse cracks on the screen. She peered closely at it to see what it was.

A number had called her about ten minutes prior, around the time Genevieve and Michael were on the way back from Ben's house. It wasn't just any number though, it was her dad's number, and he left a voicemail. Grimacing, the brunette turned away and made a mental note to listen to it later, considering she had more important business to focus on at the moment. Genevieve couldn't help but feel a little hurt, considering her parents didn't contact her since she was in the rehabilitation center. Why were they calling her now all of a sudden?

Genevieve pushed all negative thoughts to the back of her mind and shuffled over to the mini shelf under the television. Michael followed in suit and sat down beside her on the floor, watching her intently. She felt the heat start to rise in her cheeks at their close proximity before proceeding to thumb through the DVD cases.

"Let's see here…" Genevieve pondered, biting the inside of her lip as she wracked her brain for a movie to share with her friend. "Hm... We have a lot of Rom-Coms unfortunately, you can blame Cerise for that. I personally like sci-fi as well as documentaries, I find both pretty interesting." Genevieve turned to the blond, anticipating an answer. He was closer than she thought, his face about half a foot from hers.

"U-Um…" She stuttered, feeling her stomach tying into knots again. An unspoken war raged inside her as she contemplated whether to pull away or stay put. She was a deer caught in the headlights.

Michael must have felt the shift in energy as well because he said nothing. Instead, he slowly inched his hand towards hers and entwined his fingers with her frail ones. Genevieve tried desperately to search his eyes for answers but all she could find was icy blue. Something was changing in air but she wasn't sure how to address it.

"Gen…" Michael breathed softly. She could have sworn his breath smelled like honey whiskey but she was ninety-nine percent sure this man didn't drink. She couldn't pick up on any intoxication at all. The smell made a familiar ache rise in her being. The sensation was so powerful Genevieve quickly became light-headed, not knowing if all this was being imagined or not.

"May I kiss you?"

The question caught Genevieve so off guard that her breath caught in her throat, causing a soft sound to escape her. The brunette didn't think thoroughly before realizing she was the one leaning in first.

Slowly Michael's lips met hers, treading the waters of this foreign interaction. Genevieve closed her eyes out of embarrassment. She was never the type to look into the eyes of people that she shared intimate moments with. With each movement of their lips, the space between them shrank smaller and smaller. The homely smell that Genevieve so desperately craved was back stronger than ever on top of the delectable honey whiskey taste, making her dizzy with longing.

"Oh my god…" She broke away from the kiss to steal a breath. As Genevieve opened her eyes, soft blue pools peered back into hers. She could hear her blood racing within her ears. '_What am I doing? This feels so intoxicating...' _

Michael leaned in and whispered against her lips, "Please, again." He urged this by connecting the distance himself and putting a tentative hand on Genevieve's waist. She closed her eyes once more as Michael traced his tongue against her bottom lip. She hesitantly allowed entrance only to have the blond pull back in surprise, his features expressing confusion.

"What… Was that?"

Genevieve furrowed her brow quizzically at his question before connecting the dots.

"Oh!" She chuckled and stuck out her tongue for a moment, flashing the silver barbell. "It's just some jewelry. If you don't like it, I can take it out." Michael was completely dumbfounded but was surprisingly quick to accept it.

"No, it's okay," He responded, voice low and raspy. The needy tone gave Genevieve goosebumps.

"Please, I want to keep going."

And just like that, the movie had been forgotten.

* * *

Yeet they had their first kiss! ayyy

Also I figured I should mention that Michael does have a supernatural influence over Genevieve, hence the reason she's feeling "intoxicated" (hint, hint; its playing into her addictive personality, but you'll find out about that more in the next chapter)

And, ya'know, if you haven't figured it out by now (which is fine if you haven't) Genevieve is pretty sensitive towards energy/vibes/whatever you wanna call it. That will eventually be elaborated on in the future as well. I don't want to disclose too much just yet ^^

Anyways, I hope this was okay! I wanted to add some fluff before the real tragedy begins c;


	4. Chapter Four

Hope you're ready because this is the chapter where things start to pick up!

**TW for this Chapter - Mentions of family death**

* * *

Chapter Four

After the night ended and Genevieve walked Michael back home, she was faced with the dilemma on her phone. She didn't want to open the voicemail, nonetheless acknowledge it by calling her father back. Genevieve had such a good day, she would hate for her parents to ruin it. Swallowing her pride, she opened it and listened.

"_Hey, it's your father. I know we haven't spoken in some time but something came up with Lance. Please call me back as soon as you get this."_

Genevieve sat there for a moment in silence, not knowing what to make of the message. Lance Bianchi was her older brother by twenty years; for example, she was twenty-three and Lance was forty-three. Because of the enormous age difference they never really had the chance to bond or grow close despite being family. He was off doing bigger and better things. Whenever he wasn't working, Lance was traveling the country and going on cruises with his well-respected wife. It was clear as day that Lance and Genevieve's parents favored their son over their daughter. They saw her as nothing but a smudge on the family portrait who constantly found ways to dirty their family name, even though it was never intentional.

Although she was almost severed entirely from her small family circle by now, Genevieve would be lying if she wasn't mildly worried. Being close or not, her brother was always kind and formal with her. He never belittled her or shunned her like their parents had. She quickly called the number back.

Within a few rings her father picked up, "_Hello? Gen?"_

"Dad?" She asked, voice wavering and hesitant. "What's going on? You guys never call me unless it's important."

A sigh whispered from the other end of the line, "_There's no need for a remark like that. Your brother suffered a heart attack and passed away."_

Genevieve grew quiet. She listened to her father inform her about the date and time Lance's wake and funeral service would be held at. It was horrible news that no family would ever want to hear, yet Genevieve couldn't help but feel numb to it. She was more perturbed by the fact that she would have to face her family again.

"_You'll be there, right? At least for the wake?"_

Did she have a choice?

"Yeah, dad. I'll be there…"

The line hung up. Genevieve stood there for what felt like an eternity as she felt her legs turn to jelly. She hadn't seen her parents in over six months. They didn't even visit her in rehab, they just called to check in and make sure she was still alive. They were two of the many people Genevieve was hoping to never see again.

* * *

For the following week, Michael and Genevieve grew closer and closer. After their first physical interaction they both found it increasingly difficult to stay away from each other. Genevieve was doing everything in her power to distract herself from the awkward family situation and found it easy to saturate her time and energy towards Michael instead.

Each time Michael would come over they would play games and watch movies, but it would usually end short in favor of them locking lips instead. Every interaction inevitably became more passionate, more intense, and more demanding. Each night the brunette would lay in bed and replay the day's events over in her mind like a film she couldn't get enough of. She began to crave their intimacy, only ever paying attention to Michael whenever he was over. Genevieve felt a horrid emptiness take place inside of her whenever he left, reminding her that the funeral was coming closer with each passing day. It led to Genevieve retreating to her room every night instead of interacting with her best friend.

She knew that eventually Cerise would catch onto this kind of behavior and Genevieve wasn't quite ready to face that obstacle yet. The last thing she needed was becoming addicted to something else, nonetheless another person. During the day she would try to clean while waiting for Michael, as if to prove that she was still active and holding up her part of the living agreement. Cerise was worried, sure, but so long as Genevieve was doing something to contribute, it was better than nothing.

Today, however, the dainty woman was back in her therapist's office, a little more up in spirits than she had been the previous visit. Truth be told, she was just excited to see her friend later, knowing he would most likely be waiting on the doorstep again.

"How has life been since our last visit?" Marie inquired, peering over her clipboard at the patient sprawled across her yellow couch.

"Good, I'd say," The younger of the two beamed, staring up at the ceiling. Today she was clad in a black, long sleeved v-neck and a pair of purple leggings underneath. Marie noted the contrast in Genevieve's mood on her pad of paper.

"I've been slacking on finding a job, but I've been cleaning up around the house more, trying to stay active. I haven't been running as much either, unfortunately. Oh, and I have a family wake I have to go to in a few days, so that sucks. At least they asked me to just come to the wake and not the funeral."

"Glad to hear things are going well, aside from the death in your family," the therapist frowned. "Do you wanna talk about the funeral? I know you and your family aren't on the best of terms."

"Eh," Genevieve bit the inside of her cheek. "It's for my brother. He's way older than me so we've never been close. It sucks because he was the only immediate family that didn't hate me, you know? It also sucks because I _really_ don't want to see my parents, especially my mother." Marie nodded in acknowledgement, writing away on her notepad.

"Try to consider the positives of the situation. I know funerals aren't happy at all, but your parents haven't seen you in ages. You are bound to blow them away by how much progress you made. You've been sober for a little over two months and that's something to be proud of."

The patient nodded and thought Marie's words over for a second before responding, "Yeah, I guess you're right. I just know they are going to give me a hard time anyways, whether I'm clean or not. You'd be surprised how harsh my parents get when they're stressed."

"Be the bigger man and remind them why you're there, for Lance. Be the voice of reason, Gen," Marie smiled and looked up from her papers. "Now, what about the boy you mentioned?"

Genevieve offered a small grin, "Oh, Michael? We've been really great. I think I'm starting to really like him." Her heart jumped in her chest as she remembered fondly of their shared kisses.

"How often do you see him?"

The smile left Genevieve's lips as her inner conscience reminded her that she was among her very critical therapist. She wanted to pick and choose her words as to not conjure a lecture from Marie, yet she decided to go with the honest route instead. There was no use lying if she wanted to recover.

"Every day…" The brunette turned her head toward the back of the couch, knowing she just sold herself out. "But like I said, I've been doing really well. I mean, aside from the whole family thing… I've been helping out Cerise. It's not like I'm on drugs again or anything…"

Marie remained quiet for a moment as she wrote her discoveries down before contemplating what to say next. With a sigh, she looked up at her patient who was turned away from her.

"I told you last time what happens when addicts are fresh out of recovery. They are easily susceptible to finding a new addiction to feed the hungry part in their brain, like a replacement to keep the sick part fed. I'm not saying you need to completely detach yourself from him but you do need to limit the time you spend with Michael. I know it might hurt and probably isn't what you want to hear but it will be much healthier for you in the long run."

Genevieve sat up and looked everywhere else besides Marie, her eyes lingering on a cat poster that hung on the wall. It read 'Believe In Yourself' in bold print. She knew her therapist was right but she chose not to reply.

* * *

On the car ride back, Genevieve reclined in the passenger seat, humming softly with a tune on the radio. Cerise drove with one hand on the wheel and one hand holding a cigarette to her lips. She occasionally stole glances at her friend beside her.

"Can I have a cigarette?" Genevieve asked politely. "Therapy was a little stressful today. Well, not stressful per se, but definitely not super happy or anything."

"Isn't that what therapy is though? Like, if it helps you then that's all that matters," Cerise questioned, taking out a pack of Newport's from her pocket and chucking an unlit cigarette at her roommate. The brunette fixed the passenger seat so it was now in it's regular upright position.

"Yeah, that's true," Genevieve grabbed her friend's bright green lighter, rolled down the window, and lit the tobacco stick. She took a deep inhale and promptly began to cough profusely, clearly not used to the act of smoking like Cerise. She hadn't had a cigarette in months.

"...My brother died," Genevieve sighed and watched the scenery roll by. "My parents want me to come to the wake tomorrow but you know how I feel about seeing them. I'm terrified, Cer."

"Oh my god, Lance? I'm so sorry," the black Latina whispered sympathetically. "Do you need me to come with you? I can take time from work and say it's a family emergency."

"You don't have to, I know how important your job is…"

"No, Gen, I insist," Cerise looked toward her friend in the passenger seat. "I said I would be there for you and I mean it. It's really not an issue. Besides, I can be a buffer between you and your folks since I ain't scared of them. If they start gettin' all wack, I'll hold your hand and we can play girlfriend-girlfriend, then they'll never bother you again because their daughter is 'mingling with the work of Satan' or whatever."

That earned a laugh from Genevieve, "Okay, but only because you insist. I can't predict what their reaction will be when you walk in with me. They haven't seen you since I was, what, sixteen?"

"Yuuuup," Cerise beamed. "My appearance may have changed a lot but my personality stayed the same. I'm still a whole ass ray of sunshine!" The two roommates laughed together as they made their way back home.

Upon arriving, Cerise made a grunt of confusion, "Hmph, your love buddy isn't here." The redhead began to call Michael by that nickname after stumbling upon the two of them making out. That day she had come home earlier than Genevieve had anticipated.

"Huh?" The brunette peered toward their front door. Michael was nowhere in sight. "He might be at his foster dad's or something."

"...Well, chicky, you know the drill. I gotta get back to people paying me to stab them over and over with a needle," Cerise grinned at her tattooing reference as she watched her friend leave the car. "If you see Michael today, make sure not to kiss too much. Your lips might just fall off."

Genevieve let out an exasperated sound and closed the car door, rolling her eyes at her friend before making her way to the porch. Upon touching the handle, she felt a sudden drop in her stomach. As the smell of blood softly permeated her nose, Genevieve could tell instantly that something wasn't right. After getting inside and putting her stuff down on the table, the girl looked around at the kitchen and living room junction. Nothing was out of place but it was evident that the atmosphere was drastically unusual. Similar to what she felt in Ben's home, an energy lingered that made her hairs stand on end, only this time it was much more sinister.

Slowly, Genevieve made her way down the hall and to her bedroom, following after the dreadful vibrations. Everything in her shouted to leave. Furrowing her brow at the notion that nothing was out of place in her bedroom either, Genevieve turned to head back toward the kitchen just as a tall figure appeared before her. She gasped loudly and put a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. She promptly noticed that it was Michael and let out a grunt of annoyance.

"Fuck, you scared the shit out of me. Please stay outside… Next…" Genevieve trailed off after catching his gaze. His gorgeous, bright blue eyes emitted betrayal and contempt. His usual smile was twisted into a grimace.

"Are you okay?"

With a swift bend in the air around them, an invisible force threw Genevieve onto the bed behind her. Anxiety began to swell in her chest as she tried to wrap her head around just happened. She scrambled to sit up only to have Michael straddle her hips, his honey whiskey breath blew hot on her face.

'_This isn't like him, this isn't like him…' _Genevieve's brain screamed over and over as she closed her eyes, trying hard to wake up. '_This has to be a dream, he normally wouldn't be this rough.'_

"Oh, this isn't a dream," Michael hummed, his voice low and delicate. "Sorry for not staying outside like a good dog, I have been waiting all day for you."

Genevieve tried hard to make sense of how he could have possibly answered her silent question. How did he push her into the bed without using his hands? Her thoughts drifted back to the time they first made contact, as if he had looked deep within her past, and then began to talk about people who previously hurt her.

Constance was right, he certainly wasn't normal.

"I've had a pretty bad day but now that you're back we can finally have fun. I really don't like to be kept waiting…" He mused, twirling one finger around the blonde underpart of Genevieve's hair. It was only then when she noticed the significant amount of blood on the male's hands.

"Oh my god," her breath hitched, emerald eyes widening with fear as she struggled to break free from his grasp. Before she could make it to the floor, Michael corrected the action by forcibly dragging her back up by the wrist and underneath him once again. He tenaciously held Genevieve's chin with one hand and ran his thumb against her bottom lip. His other hand pressed against her shoulder to keep her in place.

"Now I have you where I want you," Michael purred against the brunette's lips before closing the distance. There was a demand in his kiss, a certain ferocity mixed with the nauseating smell of blood that Genevieve couldn't forget. Before she could succumb to the heat of his mouth against hers, she slapped his cheek with as much force as she could muster.

"What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?" She cried, desperately searching for an answer in Michael's expression. Before Genevieve could utter another word, the blond hastily shoved both hands toward her throat and squeezed tightly. Genevieve instinctively clawed at the bloody fists around her neck. She tried desperately to inhale oxygen but failed with each labored attempt to breathe.

Michael began to feel her frantic efforts squander as Genevieve's face quickly turned scarlett. Realization hit him and he immediately let up on the vice grip around her throat. Tears sprung to Michael's eyes and the presence of guilt surged through him as he watched her desperately gasp for air.

"Gen… I…"

Genevieve laid petrified as the male climbed off her and slumped to the bottom of the bed, throwing himself onto the fuschia comforter to sob.

"I-I just want to feel ne-needed… I want to f-feel like I belong… My f-father and mother don't want me, Constance di-didn't want me… Please forgive me…I just… Want…"

The heart-racing moment of terror waned and pity whisked its way into Genevieve's heart as she heard him cry. With a shaky hand, she placed her palm on Michael's head and slowly ran her nimble digits through his golden curls. Michael relaxed against her touch and his crying reduced to silence. Why she was feeling bad for the man who had just tried to strangle her? She couldn't make sense of it.

"...Whose blood is that?" Genevieve managed to ask with a hoarse voice, unsure if she even wanted to know the answer. The reminiscence of the nightmare she had over a week ago began to creep into her mind.

Michael shook his head, not wanting to answer. She wouldn't pry him in this state but she did wonder if the blood was an animal, human, or his own. Is this what Constance meant when she said her grandson had ill intentions?

Blinking back the tears forming in her eyes, Genevieve lowered her head and spoke softly in defeat, "Go wash yourself off and we can watch a movie, okay?"

* * *

Ooooo it's happening y'all, the ball is rollin and Michael is letting out his inner darkness! This is honestly my favorite Michael to write so get ready for more of him in the future huehuehue


	5. Chapter Five

**TW for this Chapter - Family death & funeral, one homophobic slur, and harassment towards addicts**

* * *

Chapter Five

That night the two watched a documentary about life on earth, including various species of animals and plants, as well as the many different types of ecosystems that existed on earth. Michael watched for about thirty minutes before eventually getting bored and fell asleep on Genevieve's lap. She had a hard time focusing on the movie as premonitions over the day's events left lasting effects on her mental state. She felt anxiety stronger than she had in a long time and it left a bitter taste in her mouth. Genevieve couldn't find the heart to push Michael away, despite his behavior scaring the hell out of her.

After the credits rolled she shook him awake and insisted he walk back on his own. She needed to collect her thoughts. Michael seemed let down so Genevieve reassured him by insisting that he could come back tomorrow later in the day, but he would have to knock next time. She got the same feeling when she first met him, like she was making a mistake, but made a conscious effort to ignore it.

When Cerise arrived home to find her roommate alone, frantically cleaning the kitchen and sorting out the living room, she decided to press.

"Hey buddy, what's up?" The redhead watched her friend hastily wash a dish in the sink, perplexed by the situation. "I was expecting Michael to be here with you."

The brunette shook her head as a shudder ripped through her, hoping the black Latina wouldn't notice.

"Not today, I'm not feeling the best from my therapist appointment," Genevieve replied gravely, hoping Cerise wouldn't catch the lie. After years of fueling a drug addiction, she found it quite easy to fib. She was a master of the art.

"Hmph," the tattooed woman huffed. "Did you wanna talk about it? I know we chatted a bit in the car about the wake tomorrow, not so much your appointment."

Silence filled the space between them aside from the scrubbing of a sponge on ceramic. Genevieve wondered how much she wanted to let her friend in on considering the conversation she had with her therapist prior.

With a small wavering voice, Genevieve finally spoke up, "...It's not so much about the session, but about Michael. He's been worrying me lately."

Cerise furrowed her brow, "How so?"

"I mean, it's nothing really, but he makes me feel strange. I… I'm worried I'm really starting to like him but I don't know if I want to."

"Gen, I'm gonna try to be as gentle as I can with you," Cerise began as she averted her eyes to the floor. "...Y'all are moving _really_ fast, girl. You've only known him for, what, two weeks or so? Not that I'm saying it's a bad thing but it looks like he's got you wrapped around his finger. I realize I'm not one to talk, considering I've had a few week long relationships with girls that I've been head-over-heels for, but you are getting too wound up by him. I'm almost worried you're _too_ into him and it's wigging me out, bud."

Genevieve stood there for a moment, eyes never wandering from the soapy plate in her hand. She didn't want to hear what her friend was saying even though she knew it was true. Michael had been on her mind non-stop whenever they weren't together. She knew what Cerise was getting at, the two girls have had therapy sessions together so that Cerise would know what to look for if Genevieve began to use again. Now that she had begun to exhibit addictive behavior, the redhead was rightfully concerned.

"I understand," the younger of the two sighed, rinsing off the last dish before turning the water off and drying her hands. "I'll try to put some distance between us. Although he will be coming by tomorrow since I promised him that…"

Before the brunette could realize she just ratted herself out, Cerise's eyes glared in mild displeasure.

"Didn't you _just_ say he wasn't here today?"

"Okay, yes, I'm sorry. I lied, he was here but not for long," Genevieve hurried to explain, trying to save herself, "He's been kind of freaking me out, actually. I kicked him out long before you came home. I actually think there's something wrong with him."

Resentment fled the Latina's face as she listened to her friend. Genevieve could feel the change in Cerise's demeanor.

"Gen, not to be rude, but you _are_ a recovering addict who is way too forgiving and empathetic. You're going to attract those kinds of people," Cerise chided, turning to the fridge to fish out snacks for the both of them. "I guess he gives me a weird vibe too but he seems fine to me. I mean, aside from the fact that he's got you hooked."

Letting out a sigh, Genevieve sat down at the kitchen table and put her head between her hands. Cerise gently placed a pudding cup and spoon beside her friend.

The brunette looked up at her roommate with a pleading countenance, "...Can you please stay home tomorrow? Like… After the wake?"

Cerise stood there for a moment, unsure of how to respond.

"I guess so," She mumbled, turning away to lean up against the cheap counter top, her glance staying put on the pudding in her hands. "I was hoping to do some light grocery shopping but I can wait another day. Also, not to change the subject, but have you seen Holly around?"

* * *

The rest of the night was spent printing out missing cat posters. The two women were clearly distressed over their little family member being lost but they didn't talk much about it, or much of anything for that matter. They both wanted to rest that night, so they decided to wait on putting up the posters until the next morning. As always, Genevieve had a rough time sleeping on top of the emotional turmoil of losing her furry loved one. Seeing her family in under twenty four hours didn't help much either. When she had to wake up early to help Cerise with stapling flyers around the block, she quickly became exhausted due to the lack of sleep.

After an hour passed of putting up posters, they had arrived back home to get ready for the service. Cerise put on her usual full-face of makeup, which usually meant dark eye shadow and dark lipstick (preferably purple), but she kept in her face piercings, not caring too much about formality. Genevieve refrained from the face painting, seeing as she hadn't worn makeup in quite some time, although she did own some anyways. She saw no point in getting all dolled up when she was only going to see her ruthless parents and people she didn't know.

Both women put on black, which wasn't hard for either of them. Genevieve put on a slender black dress that went past her knees and Cerise wore a flattering black pants-suit. They headed out the door as soon as they were both ready, Genevieve fighting the urge to crawl back inside the home.

The funeral home was about thirty miles away and it had taken some time to get there due to the afternoon Los Angeles traffic. Once they found the building and parked, Cerise and Genevieve looked at each other, exchanging a silent "we got this." They exited the wagon and strode toward the establishment.

There was much more people inside than either had anticipated. It shouldn't have come as a surprise, seeing as Lance and his wife were both good people who had friends just about everywhere they went. It was superficial but a lot of people respected him nonetheless. Cerise and Genevieve looked around, not recognizing a soul in sight. They both quietly decided on paying their respects and lingering around long enough for the parents to catch wind of them before ducking out. Both girls were not in the mood to have a conversation with Genevieve's grieving parents.

When they approached Lance's body, Genevieve bit her cheek. He was pale, even in the warm lighting, and his hair was clean and orderly. It was so surreal to see a family member like that, especially one that you never had the pleasure of knowing all that well. She recognized that she should feel something for him, and in a way she did, but Genevieve knew it wasn't as intense as it should have been. It was a very odd experience.

Before the two women could make their way back into the sea of people for a quick escape, an older couple approached. Lo and behold, it was Genevieve's parents, and they were quick to start.

"Look at you two. This most definitely is not appropriate funeral attire," Genevieve's mother, Sue, reprimanded at the sight of them. She wasn't wearing the usual blue eyeshadow she loved, instead, she had no makeup on and had looked like she had been previously crying. A very rare sight that Genevieve had only seen a handful of times.

"Hun, listen. How can you expect them to do better? Just be glad she doesn't look strung out at her brother's wake," Genevieve's father, Dennis, took a jab. He was dressed in the classic black suit and tie, also looking like he had been previously crying. They had grown much more grey hairs than the last time the roommates saw them.

"I'm not so keen about you bringing that dyke here," Sue had no issue glaring her steely eyes at Cerise when she spat the slur. "You didn't tell your father that when he called you. She didn't even know Lance!"

Cerise gaped at Genevieve's mother, completely taken aback by her outright bigotry. They must have soured in their old age.

"Listen," Genevieve began, taking on a tone of annoyance. "At least I came. I've been sober for a little over two months, not like you two would know that. I came to pay respects to my brother, because that's what is morally right. Cer is here because I needed a friend to support me. I didn't come here to be chewed out by family who only calls two or three times a year, and my friend certainly didn't come all this way to be harassed by the likes of you two."

Sue and Dennis feigned surprise at Genevieve's remark. The older woman was quick to jump on her daughter's case.

"You ungrateful child. We did nothing but provide you a stable childhood and you threw it back in our face! At least Lance made us proud by working and not being a lazy, deadbeat addict who mooches off their friends and-"

"Alllright now" Cerise jumped in before Sue could nag at Genevieve any longer. "I think everybody's had enough for now. We paid our respects and we're leaving, that's it. Just be happy we came, a'ight?"

Sue turned her scowl toward the redhead. Just before she was about to go off again, Cerise was pulling her roommate toward the front doors, maneuvering past the crowd of grieving people. The funeral home was quiet after watching the scene that went down between the feuding Italians.

Genevieve and Cerise were quick to hop in the station wagon and within record time they were both back on the road. As they drove away, Genevieve spotted her father and mother stepping out of the funeral parlor. Both girls were clearly rattled.

"Holy fuck, man. Is it just me or did your folks acquire some _serious_ issues since the last time I saw them?" Cerise broke the silence, cracking an anxious smile over crooked teeth.

"Yeah," Genevieve breathed, stealing a cigarette from the center console and sparking up. "I don't know. They were always bad behind closed doors but I wasn't expecting them to be so… So…"

"Negative in front of so many people?"

"That works," the brunette rolled down the window and exhaled a puff of smoke. "I can't believe we only stayed there for like five minutes. I feel a little bad."

"Don't," Cerise replied, lighting her own tobacco stick. "Funerals and death bring out the worst in people, especially poisonous ones like Sue and Dennis. We don't need that kinda vibe in our life, ya know? If they really wanted us to stick around they shoulda been nicer."

Both women sat in silent agreement for a while, chain-smoking cigarettes the entire ride back.

* * *

Sorry for the hella short chapter, it was mostly filler for what's about to come next :D

Also my apologies for the homophobic slur thrown at Cerise, I wanted to capture how shitty Genevieve's parents were. I'm actually very gay myself so please don't take it as me being problematic or harmful!


	6. Chapter Six

oooo spicy stuff ahead, get ready! I really enjoyed writing this chapter

**TW for this Chapter - Mentions of past abuse, mentions of past drug addiction, and a murder scene that was in AHS Apocalypse**

* * *

Chapter Six

After the wake service, the roommates were exhausted. Genevieve sluggishly removed her shoes and shuffled back to her bedroom. At this point she just needed to cry or nap.

Taking a deep breath and sitting down on her fuchsia blanket, the brunette began to feel the sob forming in her throat. One-by-one the tears fell silently. She missed her cat, Holly, who used to bring so much comfort to Genevieve whenever hard times were prevalent. Holly was her saving grace as well as her second therapist. The only member of her family that she deeply and truly loved.

Twenty minutes passed by as Genevieve laid on her bed, eventually beginning to nod off to sleep. The afternoon sun was shining through the white, satin curtains of her window. Birds were chirping outside and sometimes their small shadows would dance in and out of view as they flew by. The weather was tranquil and serene, yet Genevieve couldn't help but feel that it was quite unfitting compared to her mood.

Moments later, she heard their front door open and close, accompanied by a pair of voices. They came from the living room but she was much too tired to get up and inspect.

"Gen?" Cerise's soft voice called to her from the hallway, slowly pushing open her friends door. "Your buddy is here."

Genevieve pulled herself up from her bed, swearing her body felt heavier than usual, as she maneuvered herself between the wall and headboard. Michael's eyes soon met hers, locking in place as he stepped into the room. The smell of spice and cloves washed over Genevieve once again.

"Uh, I'll leave y'all to it then."

As the door closed, Michael crossed the room and sat close to Genevieve. His eyes were bright in the afternoon glow and it was like his golden hair shimmered in the light. It was incredible how the scenery enhanced his features so effortlessly.

"You look sad," the blond spoke flatly, his face devoid of emotion.

Genevieve could sense the same dark energy off of Michael like the last time they were together. However, this time she was much too preoccupied with the strong feeling of loss to care. Marie warned her not to drown her addiction in Michael but what about her sadness? Surely that wasn't off limits.

She leaned closer to him and put her hand on his chest. Genevieve ached for the touch of him, she wanted him to evaporate the sadness from her veins. She pushed at his chest, signaling him to lay his back against the bed, to which he obliged. Genevieve carefully swung one leg around his waist and sat on top of him, looking down at the male beneath her. Michael's golden hair splayed limp against the pink comforter, his eyes turning darker by the second.

"I can't help myself from you," Genevieve murmured and cupped his cheeks with her dainty hands. "You take away my pain and I don't understand any of it."

She bent down and pressed her lips firmly against Michael's. Genevieve slipped her hands into his hair, pulling on the strands tenderly, deepening the kiss as she did so. Michael grabbed at her waist and flipped her over so he was on top instead.

"What makes you think you can be in charge here?" Michael mumbled in response to Genevieve's attempt to control the positioning. He bent down to her neck, nipped at the soft skin, then dragging his tongue and teeth upwards until finding her lobe. Genevieve shivered and her breathing accelerated, her fingers twisting into his gold curls.

Michael's hands soon found their way to the hem of her shirt, scorching the skin beneath. Genevieve's breath hitched as one hand snaked its way upwards and kneaded at her chest. His other hand moved toward her legs, harshly grabbing at her inner thigh. The impression of lust pooling in her stomach was beginning to feel more like dread.

"Michael… I don't think I want to do this," the brunette inhaled as she pulled away from the kiss, feeling his lower hand beginning to undo her jeans zipper.

Michael didn't stop his actions as he responded with a hint of annoyance, "Of course you do. You're the one who started this. If you didn't want me this badly then why would you initiate it?"

A gasp ripped from the woman as she felt his velvet hot touch venture past her underwear. Genevieve _did_ want this but flashbacks were beginning to pop into her brain, made her sick to her stomach. Those dark times where she let men take advantage of her just so she could afford to live. They were all flooding back to her.

"Please stop…" She muttered as tears enveloped her eyes.

Michael halted as he watched the girl below him start to cry. He quickly removed his hands in vexation and sat upright, a scowl forming on his face.

"You're such a disappointment, and here I thought somebody actually wanted me."

Anger began to burn inside Genevieve and she pushed the male off of her, watching him stagger to the side of the bed. A cruel smirk graced Michael's lips in response.

"You fucking take that back," Genevieve growled as she tried to situate her disheveled self. She could tell he was relishing the sight.

"You have no idea how badly I want you."

Michael's grin widened at her reaction, "But you can't follow through because you're just _so_ broken. How does it feel to miss out on life's carnal pleasures because of a past you just can't seem to get over? I could have given you it all but instead you decided to sabotage yourself."

Genevieve grit her teeth furiously as the dam behind her eyes began to crack. How could he flip it back on her like that? Even when she never explicitly told him anything about her past? How the hell was he in her head?

"You… You need to leave."

"I will, don't you worry," Michael mocked and headed toward the window. The latches turned and the window slid open without him lifting a single finger. A light wind blew back the white curtains.

"But I'll be back, of course. You're just so fun to play with, Gen."

As he disappeared from the room, Genevieve stared at the window for a moment trying to collect herself. The floodgates were now open and she finally let her tears flow in undignified anguish.

* * *

That night Genevieve had a hard time getting to sleep. After Michael had left through her window, she decided to take an ice cold shower to try and shake her from what previously transpired. She couldn't discern the awful energy that was surrounding Michael lately. Despite the warning signs from Constance and the red flags Genevieve picked up on, she was still caught off guard. She knew something was dark in him but she certainly wasn't expecting any of the behavior he was exhibiting. What about those things Michael could do without lifting a finger? Like pushing her against the bed or opening the window? Not to mention he was in Genevieve's thoughts at all times, reading her like a book. She was beginning to think she was losing it this time.

After taking two antihistamines and settling into baggy pajamas, the girl managed to finally get to sleep. But of course, her imagination wasn't all too kind to her that night.

In her dream, Genevieve was in front of Ben's house, or as the tourists liked to call it, the 'Murder House'. The sky above her was blood red and the clouds were streaked across the sky like some kind of abstract horror movie. Crows flew in a circle over the house, never breaking their dance.

Genevieve pushed on the entrance of the house only to flow through the wooden door like it was a faux screen. Inside she wandered the rooms like she was being pulled by an invisible lead. Once the brunette was in the room her mind wanted her to be in, the pull dissipated. Before her stood Michael and three robed figures she couldn't recognize. They were crouched over a blonde woman who was much younger than her. She was dressed in a white gown, either tied down to the table or paralyzed, Genevieve couldn't tell.

"For you, Michael. It's all for you… Hail Satan!" One of the robed figures exclaimed while raising a knife and forcefully stabbing into the woman's abdomen. She screamed louder and louder as the knife was pulled from her and replaced with a hand. The man who pushed his hand inside her took out her heart and placed it in a silver dish. His accomplice promptly brought it over to Michael.

Genevieve cupped her mouth in horror as she watched Michael take the still-beating heart of the woman. He graciously bit into it.

"Ave Satanas," the male with the goatee muttered and they all bowed before Michael. A shadow with wings and horns appeared on the wall behind Genevieve's friend.

"Father, I am with you now," Michael rasped, his mouth curling into a smile.

"_NO!"_ Genevieve shrieked inside her dream. All four heads whipped around to look in her direction before her eyes snapped open. She quickly shot upright in bed.

"No!" She cried out again. "No, no, no, no, no, no…"

"Gen?" The hysterical woman heard come from the hallway as her bedroom door slowly inched open. Cerise stood before her in a black nightgown, her expression written in concern. Heavy rocks of hail pounded against the window.

"What's going on?"

Genevieve bunched her fists into her comforter and let out an ear piercing scream. Cerise rushed to her side and quickly went to hug her friend in a frantic attempt to soothe her. The redhead watched tears fall onto the back of Genevieve's hands as she shook inside of Cerise's arms.

"This can't be real! None of this can be real… I-It can't be," Genevieve hiccuped as she turned to cling to her friend.

Cerise was quick to respond, "Shhh, hunny, listen… I know it's late but I'm going to make us some tea, okay?"

Genevieve nodded as tears continued to fall. Cerise quickly got up and helped the distraught girl to her feet, gently leading her out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. Genevieve immediately slumped to the floor in front of the sink and curled into a ball, putting her forehead on top of her knees. She let out quiet sobs as Cerise turned the stove on.

"...I should respect your meltdown as much as the next person, but you know me, Gen. Was it a nightmare?" Cerise asked as she reached into the cupboards for two mugs and a box of chai tea.

With her eyes cast downward, the girl nodded her head vehemently. Genevieve was still visibly shaking as she spoke, her voice cracking on nearly every word.

"...It was about Mi-Michael."

Cerise refrained from speaking but she couldn't help the scowl that crossed her face. The water pot on the burner started to boil and she moved to turn off the stove, promptly pouring the steaming water into the two cups set aside.

"He… He's evil… Like… Demonic…"

"Gen, I don't know how to tell you this…" Cerise began, bringing the cups with her as she slowly maneuvered herself to sit next to her roommate on the kitchen floor. "I don't think he's good for you. Do you remember Casey?"

"I _really_ try not to," Genevieve spat, glaring at the memory as she grasped one of the tea's into her hand. It was green with different types of donuts on it.

"Well, I remember you used to have nightmares about him constantly, even after you two broke up. The dreams only got better once you were out of rehab and clean."

"But Michael's not _like_ him, Cer. They're completely different…"

Cerise pursed her lips and looked down at the tea in her hands as she waited for it to cool. Her long, stiletto nails clinked lightly against the ceramic. She was trying to think of something to say that wouldn't come off as rude. Genevieve was right, Michael and Casey were not the same, at least not appearance-wise. Cerise knew nothing of what happened behind closed doors.

"I'm going to try and keep your word on it," She started after blowing air into her mug. "But I'm gonna say right now that Michael isn't helping you. I know it's not my place to say that but I'm scared he's gonna drag you way back from recovery. It's like you're obsessed with him; I can see it in how you speak to him, in how you operate, in everything you do and say. You're alive when he's around but the second he leaves it's like you're dead inside. The only time you were like this before is when you were strung out on dope. And I know you're not now because you physically look healthy and don't have fresh marks or anything... Simply put, Michael is fucking with your head. Girl, It's like he's become your second heroin."

Genevieve sat quiet for a moment and stared down into the warm liquid in her cup. Cerise had said everything that Genevieve was too afraid to face herself, when in reality both of them had known it would turn out this way the entire time.

"Jesus…" The frail woman sighed as she brought a hand up to her forehead and began to massage her temples. "If only you knew just how bad it is. He makes me feel like I need him and sometimes I do. I swear to god, I even go into psychological withdrawals if it's been more than a day…"

Cerise nodded in response and took another swig of the herbal tea, "Believe me bud, I've noticed. I don't know what it's like to be addicted to hard shit like you were. I've only smoked cigs, weed, and maybe took a tab or two of acid in art school. Other than that, the rest scared me too much to try them… You're very lucky to be alive, you know."

"You know I didn't have a choice," Genevieve averted her eyes, glaring daggers at the floor by her feet. "You know it was forced on me. I didn't start using heroin because I wanted to. You know I didn't."

"I know, I know…"Cerise hummed and laid her head on her friend's shoulder. Genevieve downed the rest of her tea and set it down on the floor beside her. Tears began to poke at her green eyes yet again.

Genevieve's voice strained as she spoke,"...What am I supposed to do, Cer? I can't tell if I'm in love with him or not. He scares the hell out of me but whenever I'm with him I feel euphoric."

"Honestly? I don't know," Cerise stood up and took both of their cups to the kitchen counter to wash in the morning. "To be fair, it's your life, bud. I can't make these decisions for you. If you get butterflies in your stomach that also feel like they're warning signs, I would stay away, but that's just me. I know it's harder for addicts though… No offense."

"None taken," Genevieve sighed and stood up. "I'm well aware of what I am. Once an addict always an addict, even if I recover and all that. I went through the whole spiel in rehab."

Cerise patted her friend on the shoulder, "Good to know, just wanting to make sure. I care about you so much, Gen. I don't want to see anything bad happen to you, ya hear?"

"Thank you so much for helping me with everything," Genevieve whispered and hugged her roommate tightly. "And for giving me a place to live, feeding me, and just being the best that anyone could be."

Cerise grinned her gap-toothed smile and hugged her back, "That's what best friends are for, buddy."


	7. Chapter Seven

**TW for this Chapter - Mentions of animal death, alcohol abuse, and psychological abuse**

* * *

Chapter Seven

It's been seven days. An entire week rolled around where Michael never showed around Cerise's home and Genevieve never dared to venture toward Michael's. She would be lying if it wasn't taking a toll on her. In fact, she was struggling more than ever since being out of rehab. Not only was she aching for Michael to hold her and kiss her, but her drug urges were back in full swing. She didn't use of course, as they were just cravings, but the thoughts never really left her mind. She didn't have money for drugs or alcohol anyways.

It didn't help that most of the time she would stay home and do nothing. Dishes were piled in the sink, newspapers and unimportant things cluttered the tables, and her bedroom was a disaster. She even missed her most recent therapy appointment which has never happened.

"Hey, hey," Cerise called to her friend from across the kitchen-living room junction. "I've got a tattoo convention I'm going to tomorrow, so I won't be around tonight. It's not really that far but it is just a couple hours north of L.A. I'll have to be there early and I decided on renting a hotel room."

Genevieve stayed quiet as she watched the television series on the screen before her. Cerise pursed her lips as she mulled over her roommate's disheveled appearance. Her hair was a mess and it was accompanied by dark, tired eyes. She knew Genevieve wasn't sleeping well, if at all, just from the look of her.

"...Are you going to be okay for one night while I'm gone?"

"Yeah," the brunette replied halfheartedly. "Don't worry about me, I'll be doing the same old, same old as always."

Cerise frowned and turned away to gather up her things.

"Have you thought about looking for a job, Gen? Maybe keeping your mind distracted would be healthy for you. I saw some application fliers around the shops just a block from here. Getting out for a walk to go check 'em out wouldn't hurt, would it?"

Genevieve turned off the television and heaved a long sigh before replying, "Yeah, okay. I'll get dressed now and head out shortly."

The redhead beamed at her friend, purple lipstick and all, "That's the spirit. I'm gonna be heading out now so I can make it to the convention tonight. I wanna have everything set up beforehand so I can crank out them tats tomorrow as soon as possible.

Cerise turned to hug Genevieve, wrapping her arms around her frail roommate. She didn't protest.

"Please be safe, don't let anyone in, and answer the phone if anyone finds Holly."

Genevieve nodded and pulled herself away from Cerise, "Thank you, Cer. I'll try my best."

"I know you will," the short woman replied and made way for the door.

Soon after she was gone, Genevieve headed to the shower in order to make herself look more presentable for the day. After drying her hair, she put on a small amount of makeup, just enough to hide the dark circles under her eyes. She wandered to her closet and delved inside for appropriate job-searching attire. Trying to keep her attention focused on the clothes she was picking out was harder than Genevieve thought. Still, she pressed on. The past few days had been hard, but it was only going to get a lot harder the longer she sulked.

In no time she managed to scrounge up a blue and white polka dot blouse, white trousers to match, and a pair of black flats. She made sure to unbutton the blouse just enough for a bit of cleavage to peek through. This wasn't really her style since Genevieve preferred black over everything else. The point was to win a job, not look like she was headed to another funeral.

Standing in the mirror, Genevieve faintly remembered what it was like to be a functioning human being again. She looked great for the first time in a while and she couldn't help but smile sadly.

As she moved toward the front of the house, Genevieve's eyes wandered to the kitchen counter. There were multiple appliances, newspapers, and miscellaneous items laying all over the surface. What called to her was the glass mason jar that was tucked away behind the toaster. It read "For Emergencies Only" and held approximately two hundred dollars inside.

"Fuck," Genevieve audibly exhaled as she strode toward it. Cerise would be peeved to find the money gone. But was she that worried about that right now? Not exactly.

She placed her fingers inside the jar and quickly fished out a twenty dollar bill, willing to compromise and not blow the two hundred all at once. She examined it briefly before stuffing it in her pocket. The feeling of anxiety sparked throughout her body.

Sure enough, a block away from their house, Genevieve found the plaza her roommate had spoken about. There was a gas station, a grocery market, and many other small shops all bunched together. What caught her eye was the liquor store.

Instead of walking into the small shops that were hiring, Genevieve walked straight to the store she knew was off limits. She made a promise with Marie and Cerise to never step foot inside one again.

'_What the fuck am I doing?'_ Genevieve shook off the thought and pushed open the door. A bell rang over her head. She could feel her fingers shake as she walked through the aisles of countless alcoholic drinks and liquors. The thought of getting drunk became more and more enticing the longer Genevieve stayed.

After browsing cheap wines and settling on a sweet red, she checked out at the counter and presented her ID for the first time in five months. Genevieve's heart jumped when she was handed the card back in exchange for the twenty. She just crossed the invisible sobriety line in her brain, the one addicts draw for themselves to know what is acceptable and what is not. Everybody has a different consideration for what they can and can't handle. Some addicts can smoke marijuana, some can drink, and some can do a lot of other drugs instead. It all depends on their drug of choice, their dependence, and nature of their brain.

For Genevieve, any addictive or mind-altering substance beside cigarettes and caffeine would trigger her to relapse. A lot of addicts have different experiences when it came to relapsing, however. Some would recover for whatever amount of time and then immediately go back to their drug of choice due to a trigger or whatever it may be. Sometimes people gradually work their way back into it. Genevieve had some awareness that her experience was the latter, being able to quit heroin on-and-off in her early twenties. She would get by with other drugs but she would always go back to opiates whenever she could.

The paper-bagged wine was placed in her hands and she was soon walking out with it. A small voice in Genevieve's head was telling her to give it away, dump it, do anything but bring it back to the house, but she knew there was no going back.

Once she made her way home, Genevieve wasted no time to crack open the bottle. The brunette knew Cerise refused to keep wine openers inside so she was well aware that she would need to improvise. Genevieve's hands shook as she took one of the steak knives and plucked away at the cork. After about 5 minutes, she managed to get most of it out, but not without a few flakes ultimately floating in the wine itself. She paid no mind to it and took a swig straight from the bottle. Genevieve just washed away two and a half months of sobriety straight down her throat.

* * *

Within hours, Genevieve became intoxicated to the point of stumbling and seeing double. She had spent most of the night dancing around the house, playing loud music to try and block out the sound of failure ringing in her ears.

Now that it was nearing close to ten at night, and she had polished off the entire bottle, Genevieve slumped on to the living room couch in complete silence. The ceiling above her wouldn't stop spinning so she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ignore the nausea rising in her gut. A single tear slipped past her eyelids as she remembered fondly of the way Michael felt against her skin. It was a good distraction in comparison to how awful she felt now.

"Man, I really overdid it…"

"Because that's what you junkies do."

Genevieve's eyes flickered open and upwards to meet the voice that spoke to her. Michael stood about two feet from her, or maybe three, she couldn't tell as her perception was incredibly skewed. He was dressed in black from head to toe. Genevieve couldn't make out if it was a trench coat or a robe that hung from his shoulders. He wore black boots instead of his usual sneakers.

"M.. Michael?" She gasped and stood up, immediately staggering to the point of having to grip onto the wall for support.

"You drug obsessed freaks get clean for a while and then always go back to what was poisoning you. You overdo it and that's why so many heroin addicts die from relapsing, right? Your body can't handle the lack of tolerance and you overdose," Michael explained, pacing around the living room looking up and down at the characteristics of the house. "I know you haven't doomed yourself with that poison yet but we all know you're destined for that road, Genevieve."

"You're not… Mmnot real," the tipsy woman pointed a finger at the blond. "Get the fuck… Out of my head."

"I'm not in your head."

Michael was now directly in front of her, watching every move with ice cold eyes. Not having time to properly process the sudden movement, Genevieve gasped and reached for the most immediate thing she could find. She promptly grabbed the empty wine bottle and smashed it against the living room table. With shaky hands she raised the sharp bottleneck at Michael as a way to try and intimidate him.

"Oh, you're an aggressive drunk? How interesting," the male mused before effortlessly pinning Genevieve's wrists against the wall, making the glass hit the floor with a dull thud. "I never would have guessed considering how tame I used to make you."

"Shhhut the fuck up," Genevieve hissed between her teeth, glowering at her perpetrator. "Why… Are you here?"

"I don't know how you did it but I know it was you that spied on me," he breathed into Genevieve's face, the pseudo scent of honey whiskey teasing her. She knew it was all just a sham, a way to make her weak, and she wasn't going to fall for it again. Not even in her drunken state.

"At least now you know what I am destined to be. However, I don't really appreciate the surveillance."  
"What the fffuck are you… Talking about? You mean nnmy dream?"

"You sure do swear a lot," Michael hummed as the piece of glass Genevieve dropped earlier began to levitate upward. It shifted and angled toward her face, the sharp edge threatening her mouth.

"How about I do to you what I did to your cat. Maybe that will you teach you some respect?"

The brunette's eyes widened as she tried to piece together the information that he was providing.

"H-Holly…?"

A sly grin formed on Michael's face. Genevieve knew now that his angelic features were just a facade, just like his sickeningly sweet smell, a mask to hide the evil within him. She knew there was humanity to him, she had seen him cry so many times before, but the Michael that stood before her now echoed no such recollection of humanity.

"You're a _fucking MONSTER_," Genevieve bellowed and thrashed her legs in front of her to try and kick Michael away. The blond let go of her wrists and her body slumped to the ground. The glass Michael had previously levitated followed suit.

"I'm actually the Antichrist," he corrected, still grinning. Even through the disorienting haze, Genevieve could tell his energy changed despite the arrogant smile. Did she strike a nerve?

"You ain't ssshit," the drunken woman muttered and watched him turn away from her. She was much too overwhelmed and intoxicated to get up, nonetheless follow after him.

The blond hummed as he bent over the coffee table to inspect the remaining shards of glass, "You will see eventually, Genevieve. I will accomplish more than you ever will or could. I just wanted to take out the trash before I made my grand start into a new life." He turned a small piece between his fingers, the clear object occasionally catching the dull light from the kitchen.

"Get- Get the fuck out," Genevieve barked, beginning to breathe heavily from the adrenaline coursing through her. "Get the _fuck_ out of here and n-never _ever_ come back..."

Michael dropped the small piece of glass back onto the living room table, "As you wish. If I didn't know what is coming for you, I'd almost say you're lucky that I'm letting you live."

Genevieve wasn't sure what he had meant by that but she didn't care. As she watched him leave through the front door, she slowly leaned to her side and laid on the carpet beneath her. Michael had killed the only remaining family member that loved her and he wasn't sorry.

The familiar sting of tears built up and leaked down the side of her face. The sun was already beginning to rise and a very small amount of light peaked through the curtains. She had lost track of time completely.

Genevieve would sit in the corner of the living room until dawn, eventually finding the strength to pick up the mess she had made the night before. She would wash her makeup off, get out of her formal attire, and slide into bed yet again to try and sleep off the turmoil in her mind. Cerise would know nothing of the events that unfolded that night.

How could she hate someone so much and still love them at the same time? Genevieve was beginning to think that accidentally dying from an overdose all those years ago would have saved her from this wretched suffering.


	8. Chapter Eight

**TW for this Chapter - Alcohol/Drug use, mentions of sex, somewhat graphic heroin use, and attempted suicide**

* * *

Chapter Eight

Cerise never did not find out about that night. She never found out about her roommate stealing the money from the emergency cash jar and spending it on wine. She never found out about Michael breaking in and harassing her friend. She never found out about Holly's death. This was all due to Genevieve being able to sweep the evidence under the rug. Just because she was suffering, that didn't mean Cerise had to hurt with her. It was better if that night was kept a secret between Genevieve and the walls of their home.

When Cerise made it back from the tattoo convention, everything was relatively the same again. She rambled happily about the number of tattoos she pumped out, how many people were in demand for her artwork, and even a weird story about someone wanting a tattoo of a ranch bottle. Genevieve smiled and nodded, not speaking much as she listened closely. She was breaking on the inside and guilt was eating her alive but she hid it away. Genevieve didn't want to worry her roommate any more than she already had.

However, in the span of only two weeks, Genevieve had fallen off the rails completely. The loss of Holly was hell, but Michael's absence was detrimental to both her physical and mental health. She was beginning to lose weight from forgetting to eat although she was already thin to begin with. Instead of confiding in her friend, Genevieve decided to try something new. When she was previously recovering, she was introverted, preferring to spend time in the comfort of Cerise's home instead of going out. Now that her sobriety had ended, Genevieve grew more and more uncomfortable. She craved the feeling of being drunk or high on something, _anything_. She didn't like the thoughts and emotions she had when sober, she wanted to run from it.

And so she did. Genevieve still did not have a job so she didn't have the funds to fuel her addiction. Instead, she decided to smother her sadness in strangers whenever she could, seeing as most of the time it would earn her free drugs and alcohol. It was sickening at best, and Genevieve hated it, but what else could she do? She was hellbent on not feeling a damn thing except intoxication. Genevieve was falling apart and she had no intent on saving herself.

Most of the time after her drug-fueled flings, she would slump back home in the early hours of the morning and slither back into her cold bed. The longer time pressed on, the less Genevieve would appear at home. Even Marie had stopped trying to call in order to reschedule appointments. Everyone was aware of what was going on.

One night, after applying a full face of makeup, Genevieve decided to wear one of her favorite clubbing outfits. A tight, faux leather v-neck, a black mini skirt, fishnet tights underneath, and a pair of simple black heels. She decided to straighten her hair as a change of pace and tied it up in a messy ponytail. She then applied a dark red lipstick over her chapped mouth. All of her nightly rituals were done in a haze most of the time. This night, she was itching to get away from herself.

Genevieve soon finished getting ready and sauntered toward the front door. Cerise was on the couch watching one of her favorite shows.

"Going out again?"

"Mm."

"I figured," Cerise responded. "I hate to say this, Gen… Shit, I really don't want to… But, um, can you pack your bags when you get back?"

They both stayed silent for a moment, Genevieve facing toward the door and Cerise staring at the television. The brunette knew those words had been a long time coming.

"Yeah…" Genevieve muttered softly, stepping out the door and closing it before her friend could blurt out anything else. Her nights out usually consisted of drinking and smoking so long as she was offered, and sometimes heading back to a stranger's house afterwards. However, this exchange between the two women had deviated Genevieve's mood entirely.

* * *

Upon arriving at the club that Genevieve knew held the most activity, she showed the bouncer her ID and went inside. It was mostly dark but had bright, colored lights flashing repeatedly. Loud techno music blared in her ears. She had very little money, especially since Cerise hid the emergency cash jar, but it was not a problem for Genevieve. She knew the game she had to play like it was the back of her hand; Genevieve remembered the experience under her belt from before she went to rehabilitation. It was only a matter of time until someone approached her to offer a drink and she would play her cards.

Genevieve slowly made her way to the bathroom stalls. There she would usually find herself chatting up other girls and scoring bumps if she was nice enough. Sometimes she found herself in the unlucky position of watching girls vomiting over the toilet seats. Genevieve was usually quick to leave and find another target instead.

She gracefully slipped inside to do her business and sat down on a seat, looking over the grotesque writings on the stalls. Multiple stickers and sharpie poems were plastered on just about everything she could see. Genevieve finished up and stepped toward the sinks. She took her time as she washed her hands, watching as packs of girls came and went.

Most of the time, Genevieve would attract multitudes of men and occasionally some heftier women from time to time. So it came as a surprise when another small, feminine woman tapped on her shoulder.

"Hey, I like your hair. I love the blonde underneath," a girl with orange hair pointed to Genevieve's head. Although it was quieter in the bathrooms, the music was still booming, so they had to speak loudly over it to hear each other.

"Thanks," Genevieve shot her best fake smile and grabbed a few paper towels to dry her hands. "I like yours too, it's not often you see orange hair around. You can call me Gen."

The other girl beamed in response. She had a few face tattoos, a septum ring, and two lip piercings. In between her two front teeth was a piece of jewelry, most likely to hide a gap.

"My name is Michelle. How are you doing tonight, Gen?"

The brunette felt her stomach drop but continued to hold her composure, her artificial smile never wavering once.

"Aha, of course it is… I'm alright, kinda lonely though," Genevieve hummed and put her hands on her hips, popping out the little bit of chest that she had. "What about you?"

Michelle fished around in her pocket and pulled out a bunched up sandwich bag. There was a white powder tucked into the corner edge.

"I'm kinda lonely myself. Wanna do some lines and then head for the bar?"

Genevieve eyed the bag, "Hm, I don't know…"

"I'll buy you a drink or two. Maybe three or four. However many you want, chicky," Michelle winked and began to tap out the contents on the bathroom sink. She pulled out a fifty and rolled it up between her fingers.

"Alright, alright," Genevieve gave a dry laugh. "I'm sold."

After an hour passed, the two women eventually grew bored and decided to take a taxi back to Michelle's house. They drank red wine for another hour or so before mutually deciding to become intimate with each other. Two lonely strangers trying to find solace within one another.

No matter who she slept with, Genevieve tried desperately to chase the same feeling that Michael gave her, but she failed every time. It was mind boggling to her, considering they had never even gotten that close, and yet she did everything in her power to recreate that sickeningly sweet burn of having him in her vicinity again.

Once Michelle had drifted off to sleep, Genevieve stayed awake. She usually couldn't fall asleep next to people she didn't know, which is why she constantly found herself sliding back into Cerise's home come early morning. Genevieve got up and shuffled toward the bathroom. She switched on the light and took note of how dirty everything was. It wasn't often that she would sleep with a total slob; in fact, most of the people she used were quite wealthy and had homes much cleaner than this.

Genevieve looked into the mirror at glanced over her sloppy makeup. Her mascara had run underneath her eyes, the dark lipstick was smudged, and her usual bright green eyes showed nothing. It terrified her. Genevieve knew things were getting worse but all she wanted to do was keep running from it. She wasn't sure if she even wanted help this time.

She sighed sadly and headed back toward the bedroom to gather her things. Before Genevieve turned off the light, a long object with an orange tip caught her eye. She instantly knew what it was before even turning to face it. There sat a package of both used and unopened needles on the sink with another sandwich bag containing brown powder. Multiple spoons were inside the sink itself.

'_You have to be kidding me…'_

It took everything in her willpower not to relapse right then and there. Instead, Genevieve grabbed one unused needle that was still in the plastic wrapper, a somewhat dirty spoon, and the entire bag of heroin. She quietly hurried to put on her clothes and gather the rest of her belongings before rushing out the door. The brisk autumn air kissed her face.

Genevieve knew full well she could not risk using in Cerise's house. Not only would the redhead be absolutely furious with her, it would most likely break their trust and friendship entirely. There was only one other place she could go.

* * *

In the taxi cab, Genevieve found it increasingly difficult not to bite at her fingertips or shake her legs in anticipation. The sick part in her brain was starving and she needed to fuel the fire, if not destroy it completely. The ride to her destination couldn't end soon enough.

Genevieve threw the taxi driver the only money she had left and stepped out of the car. She paced quickly toward the house that made her feel cold and paranoid. All the lights were off and the building looked just as decrepit as the day she saw it. The "Sold" sign swung softly as Genevieve heard the taxi speed away.

'_That's new.'_

Leaves crunched beneath her heels as she made her way up to the front porch. Before Genevieve lifted her hand to knock, the door expeditiously opened before her, inviting her in. Genevieve didn't call out for Ben or anyone. In fact, she wasn't certain he even lived there anymore, or if it was a different family that resided there now. Regardless, she made a beeline to the first bathroom she could find.

Once inside, she turned on the lights and locked the door behind her. Genevieve sat down in the tub and hastily pulled out her equipment. She didn't waste any time as she unbuckled her belt and wrapped it tightly around her arm. She put all of the sepia powder in the spoon and pulled out her lighter. Genevieve knew there was too much there for her body to handle, especially after being a little under four months clean from it. She welcomed that fact.

With shaky hands, Genevieve put the needle tip into the brown liquid and pulled the plunger back with her teeth.

"Trying to go out like Kurt Cobain, huh?"

The brunette audibly gasped and fumbled with the injector, nearly sticking herself in the hand with it. Genevieve turned to face a boy sitting on the closed toilet seat with a half smile on his face. Next to him stood a girl with straight, long blonde hair.

"Tate! That's so rude," the girl bent down beside Genevieve. She had soft, brown eyes that looked her over in both worry and bewilderment.

"Do you guys live here?" Genevieve asked anxiously, feeling like she was about to get thrown out or worse have the police called on her. She turned to look over at the bathroom door that was now wide open.

"How did you get in? I thought I locked-"

"Listen, I don't know you, but killing yourself in this house is really not a good idea," the brown-eyed girl spoke up again.

"Yeah, you're gonna get stuck here if you do," Tate added, that same half smirk never leaving his lips. "Like, forever."

Tears began to threaten Genevieve's eyes as she turned back to the needle in her hand. What were they saying? Getting stuck in the house?

"It's true," Constance's memorable, southern drawl sounded from the hallway outside the bathroom. Both teenagers turned to face her once she stepped inside.

Genevieve let the tears run down her face before choking out, "You're dead. How are you standing there?"

"Heavens, of course I'm dead. You convinced me to keep that damned monster inside my home for longer than I could bare to handle," Constance chided, bringing a cigarette to her lips. "And before you ask, no, I wasn't murdered. This is my house and I decided I wanted to stay with it, so I did. My life is the one thing no man could _ever_ take from me and I wasn't about to let Michael have that."

Genevieve shook her head from side to side, "This isn't real... This isn't happening." She tried desperately to convince herself she was hallucinating. Every time she squeezed her eyes shut, the three remained whenever she opened them again.

Before thinking it through any further, Genevieve prodded at her arm to find a vein. She inserted the needle and eased back at the familiar sting, nearly fainting from the rush alone. She watched closely as she pushed the plunger, blood inevitably back-flowing into the plastic tube. Genevieve couldn't manage to inject the remaining amount before the burn of euphoria hit her. As her rigid body eased back into the tub, she watched as Constance left and a woman with long, ginger hair stepped in.

"Tate, Violet, you should go. I'll take care of her."

"I'm not letting her die here, mom," Violet shot back and quickly reached for the phone that had fallen out of Genevieve's pocket. As Tate and Violet switched places with the older woman, Genevieve could hear the teenager speaking into the phone from a room away.

"I'm so sorry this is happening to you. Ben told us that Michael was interested in a girl," Violet's mom spoke slowly to the fading woman in front of her. "When you came in tonight, Ben alerted us that it was you, which was a surprise because we all thought Michael would have killed you by now… I'm Vivien Harmon, by the way. Sorry for the commotion earlier."

The motherly figure gently put a cloth on Genevieve's inner elbow and slid the needle out. Vivien placed it away from the tub and turned back toward the brunette, applying pressure to the bleeding vein. Genevieve let out a heavy sob that had been previously building. Her eyes overflowed and watery mascara marked a blotchy trail down her cheeks.

"I… loved him… _so much_." She whimpered and rolled her head back. Her vision churned and spiraled no matter where she was looking.

"I can't… live… without hi-... him."

Vivien sighed and stroked the girl's head softly. Genevieve leaned into the touch and her emerald eyes rolled back into her head. The light of the bathroom began to dissolve as Vivien's voice sounded like it bubbled from underwater.

"Yes, dear, you can."


	9. Chapter Nine

**TW for this Chapter - Non-graphic rape and mention of attempted suicide**

* * *

Chapter Nine

In Hell time does not exist. It's important to note that everyone's Hell is different; for Genevieve it was a perpetual loop. Her Hell had already been experienced years prior which now played out before her eyes. Genevieve knew it wasn't reality that she was stuck in, although that didn't change the fact that it was still very real.

"I got something to help ease the pain, doll," a hoarse voice whispered into Genevieve's ear. She had been crying all night. Her boyfriend was not the same person as he was at the beginning of their relationship and it was only now that it became clear.

"Like what?" The girl sniffed and wiped at her puffy eyes. She watched Casey get up from the bed and dig around inside his backpack. The room was small and dirty, clothes strewn across the floor, and they shared a rickety queen sized bed. The only source of light in the bedroom was a tiny lamp on the bedside table. Genevieve was in her ex-boyfriend's old apartment, only this time she wasn't the seventeen-year-old with blue hair that she had been years before. She is her present self in Hell, dressed up in those same fishnet leggings and faux leather top that she died in.

Casey sat back down on the bed beside Genevieve and held up a needle and spoon. He ran his other hand through his short, spiky hair as he turned to look at his girlfriend's reaction.

She shook her head at the sight before her, "No, I don't think this is a good idea…"

"Come on now, I'll watch over you. Trying it once isn't gonna hurt you and you never have to take it again. I just think it will help you get to sleep, baby."

That was all she wanted. She knew that once they both wake up in the morning she would have her old boyfriend back, the one he used to be before he started to use every night. Casey was not the same; his behavior on drugs was bizarre and it scared her. This night, in particular, would play out worse than any of the other times.

"I guess," Genevieve gave in. She was terrible at saying no to people, especially Casey. She knew that even if she tried to protest he would pack her bags for yet another guilt trip. She didn't want to go through that again in her distraught state.

"Please don't let me die."

"Doll, there is no way I'd let you. I'll give you just enough to sleep, okay?"

Casey took care in handling Genevieve's arm, being patient with her as he delivered the poison. After the ordeal was over, she began to feel herself sink into the bed like she was melting into the fabric. It felt like she just stepped into the best warm bath she had ever taken and her worries were being washed away.

Distant green eyes watched as her boyfriend took the rest of what was in the needle into his own arm. Genevieve turned her head away and her eyes slowly fluttered shut, sinking into the incredible feeling. It was unlike any other, completely indescribable. This is how heroin would become her drug of choice and eventually ruin her life years down the line.

"Don't you just look so stunning like that? How about we enjoy the high together?"

Genevieve rolled over to see her boyfriend undressing in front of her. He was fumbling around with a small plastic square in his hands. Casey eventually deciphered how the rubber worked in his drug-induced state. Genevieve's stomach dropped at the sight.

"Please… Don't do this. I'm not…"

Her pleading was disregarded as Casey began to paw at her shorts, hastily taking them off her hips and tossing them to the side. He ripped open her stockings and underwear, tears beginning to roll from Genevieve's glassy eyes. This had been set up from the start.

At the time, Genevieve hid herself away in a secluded part of her mind when her boyfriend carried out his treacherous act. But in Hell, there was no other state of consciousness to flee to. Twenty three-year-old Genevieve experienced every second of the torture her seventeen-year-old self had been too afraid to face in the past.

After it was over, Casey rolled onto his side of the bed and promptly drifted to sleep beside his victim. Genevieve had kept her eyes closed throughout the tribulation and began to slip away as well, finally free from the disgusting texture of his skin. She sighed in quiet contempt, grateful that it was over. That is, until she heard him speak again.

"I got something to help ease the pain, doll."

Her everlasting purgatory would continue like that, looping over and over no matter how many tears she cried or how many times she silently begged it to end. This was her greatest mistake, her deepest trauma, and there was no escaping it.

After what felt like an eternity, Genevieve was expecting the nightmare to play it's rounds like usual until something in the atmosphere shifted. Instead of smelling the spoon burning, she smelled spice and cloves, a familiar smell she had a hard time processing. Where had she smelled that before?

Still shaken from the perturbation of her nightmare, the girl thought nothing of when Casey climbed over her again. Instead of following through with his sin, he stopped and stared into Genevieve's eyes. Two hands grasped his head and promptly snapped his neck; his body lifelessly slumped onto hers.

"C-Casey?" Genevieve mumbled, surprised by the break from the usual script. She mustered what little strength she could gather to push the body of her boyfriend off of her. Genevieve pulled her legs together to hide the shame before looking upward at the person who just killed Casey. She knew she was in an infinite loop so how was this possible?

The male standing beside her was dressed in formal attire. His jacket and pants were black and a white dress shirt shown beneath, a small ribbon adorning the collar. Genevieve couldn't see the man's face as it had been nothing but blinding light. When she tried to squint in order to get a better look, he tenderly grabbed Genevieve's forearm. A burning sensation began to seethe through her veins and she watched as the brown liquid began to leak from the tiny hole by her inner elbow. Before she could ask who he was, the man turned away and walked out the open bedroom door which was originally locked.

Genevieve felt strongly compelled to follow him. She pulled on her shorts and hobbled toward the bright light outside of Casey's bedroom. Genevieve didn't look back as she stepped into the white abyss.

* * *

_Beep…. Beep…. Beep…._

A repetitive, digital sound rang inside Genevieve's head. She could hear voices speaking from rooms away along with indistinct clattering and shuffling. One-by-one her senses came back to her. Genevieve's mouth tasted of vomit and her body ached with a stupendous ferocity. Cracking open her eyelids, emerald eyes were met with the same bright light she had just walked toward moments ago. Genevieve tried to raise a hand to shield her eyes from the blinding luminosity but felt multiple tugs at her hand.

"...Gen?"

Squinting through her lashes, Genevieve hazily began to regain sight. Through cloudy vision she examined the white sheets draped across her body, multiple wires and a heating pad sat in her lap. She was clad in a cheap, light blue gown. When she opened her mouth to ask where she was, nothing came out.

"Oh my god, you're awake. You're back. Oh my god," Cerise rushed over and hugged the fragile brunette, trying her best not to squeeze too tight. "I didn't think you were gonna wake up… Nobody did."

Genevieve peered down at the IV needle in the back of her hand. Her voice cracked as she managed to find her voice, "Wh-Where… ?"

"Gen…" Cerise stood up, cupping a hand over her mouth. This was the first time Genevieve had seen her friend out in public without makeup. Her chocolate eyes were red and puffy from crying and fresh tears threatened as Cerise looked at the treacherous sight of her friend. A man with dark, slicked back hair and a strong jaw line pushed back the room's white curtain. He stepped into the small space and peered at both of them.

"Miss Bianchi, you are at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center," the doctor consulted the clipboard in his hands. "Looks like you suffered an overdose. On top of already having alcohol and cocaine in your system, which undoubtedly had a dangerous effect on your body, you managed to inject a massive amount of opiates. Thankfully you called your friend before it was too late or you would have been in the morgue right now."

Genevieve shook her head, trying hard to remember what happened before she ended up in the emergency room. Fuzzy memories slowly began to resurface. The teenager with the long blonde hair took her phone right before she passed out.

"I… I didn't call her though…"

The doctor offered a light chuckle, "There was nobody in the house except you when your friend arrived. You're probably still a little shaken from the incident, so I'll tell the nurse to come by with some food and refreshments while we discuss the next plan of action for you."

As the doctor turned back around behind the curtain, Genevieve turned to meet a wide eyed Cerise, who looked like she was on the edge of crying again. The only sound that filled the space between them was the muffled talking in the hall and the consistent noise of the heart rate monitor.

"Cerise, I didn't…"  
"I know, I know," the redhead reassured, clasping her hands together. "I know that wasn't your voice and I really tried to tell the cops that, but they wouldn't listen. Even though I thought there was enough evidence to prove someone was there with you, it wasn't enough. Your phone was completely outside the bathroom and set on top of a table in the hallway. They refused to run fingerprints; I was so devastated…"

Genevieve raised an eyebrow at her friend, "Could you fill me in more?"

The older of the two bit her lip and looked down, "Well, after the weird phone call I immediately called the police before I ran over. They had to pull me off you and wouldn't let me ride in the ambulance. I was _pissed._ I had to drive by myself to the hospital and when I got there they told me… They…" Cerise had to pause to wipe stray tears from her cheeks.

"They told me you had died… for eleven minutes. Nobody really understands how you came back after that long… They marked you deceased i-in the ambulance but you came back right as you reached the hospital… We were all worried you would be in a coma o-or that you would be a vegetable because of how long your brain didn't have oxygen…" She began to fully cry now, gentle sobs shaking Cerise's figure as she curled into herself. Genevieve could feel the tug of her heartstrings at the sight. Her once happy, full-of-life best friend was reduced to a sniveling mess because of her.

"I really don't know what to say except that I'm sorry, Cerise…" Genevieve began, looking away in shame. "Can I tell you something even more strange?"

The questioned earned a shrug from the redhead as she tried to compose herself once again, "Yeah, I guess…"

"Okay, I really don't want to sound crazy, but, uh... I think I might have went to Hell…" Genevieve paused as she watched the incredulous look take form on her friend's face.

"Like… I was reliving the worst part of my past, over and over. It was endless; it felt like it was going to last forever… Until it didn't. Someone came in and stopped it. They reached for my hand, and- and then…"

Cerise stared at the brunette in shock, tears still running down her cheeks.

Genevieve took a deep breath, "I woke up. You know, I can't exactly be sure because of how disorienting everything was and still is, but… I think it was him. I think it was Mi-"

"No. I'm going to stop you right there," Cerise stood abruptly from her corner seat, rage dancing in her eyes. Her voice rose with each word she spat.  
"He's fucking gone, Gen. He's gone, he won't come back for you, and he _certainly_ didn't save you from shit. If anything, Michael is what fucking put you in here! You almost followed him to the _fucking graveyard!_"

"Alright now," the doctor who previously interacted with the two women walked in. He was accompanied by a nurse carrying a tray full of hospital food.

"I think things have gotten a bit too heated for someone who just woke up. Let's discuss the situation, shall we?"

Cerise shook her head and looked at her friend with an expression that showed nothing more than worry and anger. The nurse who followed the doctor to the room gently set the plastic tray down on Genevieve's lap. None of the contents in front of her seemed to peak her interest, she was more nauseous than anything.

Once the nurse left, another woman stepped in. She was clad in a long skirt and light colored blouse, accompanied by a clipboard in her hands just like the doctor. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun and soft makeup enhanced her features. She looked no more than thirty years old.

"Miss Genevieve Bianchi, we were almost certain you would not wake up given the condition you were in when you came to the ER. However, in the event that you would wake up, our hospital staff and Cerise Rose have come to an agreement that there are very few options you can take here. Unless you can prove this wasn't an attempt on your life, you will be admitted to the nearest psychiatric facility. If you can prove that this wasn't intentional, then we are more than happy to help you look for rehabilitation centers in the area as well as housing after you complete the program."

"...You're putting me away?" Genevieve's blurted out as she looked toward Cerise, who was turned away from her completely.

"Miss Bianchi, can you prove this wasn't a suicide attempt?" The psychiatrist spoke up again, trying to direct the conversation.

The brunette sat there dumbfounded. How could she prove that it wasn't? Genevieve could barely focus on the situation before her because of utterly hurt and betrayed she felt.

"… No."

"Then we will be monitoring you for a bit longer before the paramedics get here to transport you," the psychiatrist took out her pen, wrote on her clipboard, and soon disappeared behind the curtain with the doctor. The sound of heels clicking against linoleum along with the steady sound from the heart monitor was all that could be heard between the two before Cerise finally spoke.

"Gen, I'm sorry, I just-"

"Save it," the brunette hissed at her ex-roommate. If she wasn't as exhausted as she felt, Genevieve was sure to chew out the redhead some more, but inevitably decided against it. She sighed before continuing.

"I wasn't expecting to survive that, to be honest. Maybe this is for the better. Have I lost the privilege to say that I'm kind of hurt?"

"Bud, I couldn't stand seeing you spiral like that," Cerise whispered, eyes watering again. "It hurt so much, I knew there was nothing I could do. I was so scared of this happening, could you blame me for not wanting it go down in my house? I can't go through this again…"

Genevieve nodded, knowing full well that she was in the wrong here, "You're right… I really blew it. You gave me a chance and I ripped it apart and threw it out the window. Maybe this time around I'll get the proper help I need. But… Can you at least promise me something, Cer?"

"What's that?"

"Could you visit me when I'm admitted? You know I don't have family or any other friends who would…" Genevieve trailed off, almost feeling embarrassed by her request.

Cerise blinked back tears before crossing the distance between them. She sat down on the bed next to her best friend and reached for Genevieve's frail hand. Eyes glistening, Cerise squeezed softly and looked into the other girl's eyes.

"Of course I will. I will always be by your side, no matter what comes between us."

* * *

**Continued in Part Two - "Elastic Heart" (You can find it on my profile!)  
**

Thanks for reading! Leave a review if you enjoyed Part One, have any thoughts or feelings about it, or if you're excited for Part Two! I _love_ feedback ^^


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